


Moonage Daydream

by mournwiththemoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Music, References to David Bowie, Slow Burn, Teenage Dorks, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 21,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mournwiththemoon/pseuds/mournwiththemoon
Summary: London, 1974. Sirius Black, a fifteen year-old rebel with a troubled mind and an oppressive mother, has a secret. The guitar hidden in his wardrobe introduces him to a completely different world, but it’s the boy working in the local music shop that makes Sirius’ heart race more than any Bowie song could.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an AU thing I wrote a while ago that I thought I might as well publish.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, a shit-tonne of thanks go to Harriet @yesteryearqueerdo for spotting all my cock-ups and motivating me! :P)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: there is mention of violence and child abuse in this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, just in case there's any confusion, the age gap between Sirius and Regulus is a bit bigger in this fic than it is in canon. I'm not sure how old Regulus is in my writing, but I think it's obvious that he's quite young.

It was April 30th. Which meant the end of the school holidays. Which meant Sirius had to go home.

 

Staying at the Potters’ for the past two weeks had been heavenly, though it was a miracle that Sirius’ parents had ever allowed it.

 

“Now, remember, you are to make yourself scarce for the duration of your stay,” his mother had told him sternly as he practically sprinted out the front door of Grimmauld place, “and I want you and your clothes looking exactly as they do now once you return. D’you hear me? If you do _anything_ to drag me through the dirt, you’ll regret it.”

 

Shaking slightly - more from excitement than fear, for once - Sirius nodded obediently and left without looking back. There was nothing to worry about, he was certain of it. The Potters loved him; they wouldn’t snitch on him to his mother, no matter what sort of trouble he inevitably got into.

*

Now, as Sirius dragged his suitcase back down the narrow terraced road, he realised that there was one major thing he’d forgotten about. In his defence, he hadn’t actually done anything _that_ bad whilst staying with James. Nothing that he got caught for, anyway. He’d managed to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke that had started clinging to his clothes; he’d made sure the hip flask James had given him was safely tucked away in his coat, where his mother would never look. He was wearing the same outfit he had done when he left in an attempt to look presentable, and though his clothes were a little creased, he figured he would probably get away with it. As long as he went straight upstairs and unpacked it all before his mother noticed him, he should be fine. All-in-all, Sirius had managed to Walburga-proof his entire person. Except for one thing: over the past weeks he’d let his dark hair grow out so that it lay thick and messy on his head and below his ears, almost touching his shoulders. Sirius had never been allowed to grow his hair out before, but being away from home made him forget entirely about looking “proper”. He loved the way he looked now; it was what he’d always wanted - rugged and dark and wild. It hadn’t hit him til he caught sight of his reflection in the window of Mrs. Potter’s car. His mother would throw a fit when she saw him looking like this. But there was nothing to be done about it now, so Sirius could only pray that she wouldn’t notice.

 

Seconds after stepping through the front door, it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen.

 

“Sirius Orion Black!”

 

His mother practically swooped into the hallway, elegant face contorted with disgust and rage. Sirius winced like he always did when she used his full name. Perhaps his new hairstyle was a little more obvious than he’d hoped. Walburga loomed over her son, glaring at him with eyes that could kill. Sirius knew his mother would never hit him - that was his father’s job - but he couldn’t help flinching when she reached out and grabbed at a tuft of hair, pulling Sirius painfully closer.

 

“What in heaven’s name have you done to your _hair_?!”

 

“Uh, I just-”

 

“Kreacher! _Kreacher_!”

 

Before he could protest, Sirius was being dragged into the lounge by their butler, Kreacher, who was surprisingly strong for someone so thin and ill-looking. Shoved into a wooden chair with his hands pinned behind his back, Sirius struggled desperately against Kreacher’s grasp, though they both knew there was no point. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. There was no escaping this, Sirius knew.

 

“Let go of me!” the boy screeched, shaking from side to side as he tried to knock himself off the chair.

 

“Sit still, would you?” Kreacher muttered, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Walburga returning with a large pair of scissors in her hand.

 

“No!” Sirius yelled, his voice hoarse as tears began brimming in his eyes. “No, no, no! Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me!”

 

“Watch that vile mouth before I wash it out with soap,” Walburga hissed, each word dripping with venom. She made for Sirius’ hair with the scissors open wide and began tugging at the thick black locks, shearing them off so carelessly that now and then the blade dug into Sirius' scalp and made him yelp.

 

“It hurts!” he protested, the ferocity all but gone from his voice, replaced instead with pleading. “Stop it, it hurts!”

 

What gave her the right to do this? She didn’t _own_ him. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. _Fuck this_.

 

With a mighty heave, Sirius wrenched his hands out of Kreacher’s and went to push his mother away. He probably should have thought this through, but Sirius was seeing red, and nothing could make him stop. In a split second he lifted his hands above his head, straight into the path of the scissors, which cut fiercely at his fingers and made several thick gashes in the skin. Sirius cried out in pain and pulled away; he was about to jump from the chair when Kreacher seized him once more and held him still. The butler wasn’t as strong as Sirius’ father - the beatings and punishments always came from him - but the way he dug his nails sharply into the boy was enough to keep him from moving again.

 

“ _Garçon stupid_ ,” Walburga seethed, shaking her head in annoyance, practically snarling when she saw the blood trickle from Sirius’ hand and onto the black and white tiled floor.

 

“Regulus! Regulus!”

 

She continued to hack away at Sirius until his hair was patchy and cropped down to nothing more than bristles. A small boy with wide, green eyes emerged from the hallway, and the look on his face made it clear that he’d heard everything.

 

“Yes, mother?” he said softly. Walburga was trimming the hair on the back of Sirius’ neck, not taking her eyes from the scissors.

 

“Do not _mumble_ , Regulus,” she scolded. “I’ve told you a million times.”

 

“Sorry, mother,” Regulus said, still not daring to step into the room.

 

“Be a good boy and fetch a towel from the airing cupboard and help clean this mess up.”

 

Regulus nodded and dashed off in the other direction, thankful for an excuse to escape the scene. Sirius, by this point, had given up his fight, head drooping, shoulders slumped, and tears streaming silently down his face. He tried to focus on the past two weeks with James - his brother, his best friend. The Potters were his real family, and they would never do this to him. One day, he’d get away from here, and he grow his hair as long as he wanted. He’d live with James, wearing what he wanted every day; listening to Bowie and staying up late. _One day_ , he told himself. It wouldn’t be like this forever. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u so much to the people who left kudos and feedback on the first chapter, that shit fuels me omg!!! <3 I hate this chapter a lot but I'm just setting the scene here if you will.

Sirius had decided pretty early on that he wanted to be like David Bowie. David Bowie wasn’t like other rock stars. He wasn’t like other guys in general. He didn’t have a deep voice or stubble. He was skinny and he wore tight clothes and make-up. There was something about that that Sirius just couldn’t get enough of. Bowie was pretty much as far from his parents approval that anything could possibly get. Sirius longed to wear make-up like Bowie; he wanted to outline his eyes in black and paint blue beneath his eyebrows and stars on his face. One day he’d try it, he told himself. When he finally got away from home, he’d wear as much makeup as he wanted. He’d grow his hair out and get as many piercings as he could afford. The look on mother’s face would be priceless.

A couple of years ago, Sirius had found a rather battered-looking turntable in a second hand shop and taken it home with him. It was cheap, if not a little jumpy, but it worked, and that was what mattered. There weren’t many chances to actually use the thing, but just knowing it was there made him feel safe, almost. Sometimes he would sneak out of school just to go to a shop that played music, because going a day without hearing it was impossible. Sirius couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but he’d constantly find himself humming whilst walking between classes or when he was locked in his room for hours on end. It was the only thing that kept him sane. So when he finally had his own turntable he began buying as many singles as he could hide in his sock drawer, knowing that getting caught with either the records or the player would be lethal. To his parents, any music that wasn’t classical was a sin. Sirius loved the Chopin pieces he played in his piano lessons (the one thing impressed upon him by his parents that he didn’t hate), but that was nothing when he knew there was a Pink Floyd song waiting upstairs in his bedroom. The turntable fit perfectly under his bed, impossible to spot when he covered it up with a black jumper that was now too small for him.

Sirius was proud of his purchase, but it wasn’t nearly as impressive as the hi-fi that James had. Sirius first laid eyes on it when he was thirteen, and safe to say, it changed him.

 

*

“Mate, it’s the coolest thing,” James had said as they wiped their feet on the doormat of the Potter's house. “Dad just bought the new Bowie record and you _have_ to hear it.”

The album was called _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars_ , and it was nothing like what anyone had ever heard before. Pink Floyd were cool, T-Rex were pretty badass as well, but this - this was something completely new, and it filled Sirius with a kind of thrill he wasn’t used to feeling. The first few songs had passed him by; he was too excited to concentrate (and had also been mildly distracted by the bowl of crisps Mrs Potter had brought through for them), but it was the third track that really stuck.

“ _Moonage Daydream_ ,” James read from the sleeve, drumming his fingers in time to the music. “How cool is this shit?”

“Language,” Sirius scolded, mockingly slapping his friend’s wrist. “I think this is the best song I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“You can borrow it if you like,” James offered, holding out the dust cover. Sirius shook his head.

“Can’t bring vinyl home, only singles,” he said bitterly. “It’s too big to hide anywhere and Walburga would have her hands on it in seconds.”

James shrugged, and Sirius smiled. The best thing about James was how he managed to brush off every problem, like he knew he could always find a way around it.

“Apparently he’s gonna be on _Top of the Pops_ soon,” James said, pointing to the figure of the cover. “He’ll be singing something off this, no doubt.”

  
Sirius had to force himself not to get too excited. He’d never seen _Top of the Pops_ before. There was no TV at home, and on the one occasion where he’d asked if they could get one he’d been rewarded with a cuff round the ear.

“Why not you come round when it’s on and we can watch it together?”

*

_Moonage Daydream_ had been Sirius’ favourite song ever since, and watching Bowie with his blue guitar on James’ TV had just made Sirius love it more.

He hadn’t been planning to get Moony, but Sirius wasn’t great with impulse control and it had just sort of . . . happened.

He was walking home from school, the day after the hair cutting incident (his three middle fingers had been haphazardly wrapped in bandages); and there, in the window of the second-hand record shop, was a black guitar with a white bit in the middle. It looked nothing like Bowie’s guitar; this one was angular and not as shiny. But it was a _guitar_ , and it was _right there_ , and before he knew it, Sirius was at the counter.

“How much is that guitar in the window?” he asked eagerly, peering over the desk at the middle-aged man who looked far too tired to be engaging in conversation.

“‘S more for display, really, but I’d take sixty for it,” he shrugged, scratching absently at the stubble on his jaw. “Don’t suppose you got that kind of cash on you, hm?”

Sirius smiled rather smugly and pulled three twenty pound notes from his pocket. The man raised his eyebrows.

“Kid’s got more money than I have,” he muttered, but he accepted the cash and beckoned Sirius to the window, where he took down the guitar and handed it to him. It was a lot heavier - and a hell of a lot dustier - than Sirius had expected, but he clutched the neck of it protectively all the same. “There’s a case ‘round back," the man said. "I’m assuming you’ll want that.”

Sirius hadn’t really thought this through. He had nowhere to hide something this big, really; the turntable had been a push, but this? He’d never touched a guitar in his life, but he was playing grade six on piano already, so how hard could it be?

“Uh, yeah, please. D’you want me to pay extra for it?”

“Don’t bother,” the man called from the back room. “Don’t want to get told off by your folks when they find out you been stealing their paper.”

It sounded like he was joking, but Sirius couldn’t be completely sure. The shopkeeper soon emerged with the case and held it out, obviously expecting Sirius to put the guitar in. The boy hesitated.

“Uh, which way-?”

The man chuckled.

“You sure you want this thing? You’re clearly not an expert, if you don't mind my saying.”

He took the guitar from Sirius and tucked it neatly away, zipping up the case and holding it out.

“Careful taking it home. It’s not in tip-top condition as it is.”

“Thanks!” Sirius said, dashing out of the shop as fast as he could with his new purchase weighing him down. He decided the guitar had to have a name. _Bowie_ was too cliche, and _Moonage Daydream_ wasn’t catchy. He thought about shortening it, but _Moon_ just sounded dumb. Eventually, after trying out different words in his head, he settled on _Moony_. It wasn’t as badass as he’d originally planned, but something about it just sounded right.

The journey home seemed far too long, and he quickly started to worry about where he was going to put his new possession and how he would get it upstairs without getting caught.

It turned out to be easier than he’d thought. Regulus was having a piano lesson, which meant mother would be occupied - she loved watching her darling son play, despite the fact that Reg wasn’t in the slightest bit musical and was nowhere near as good as Sirius. Still, anyone who wasn’t Sirius was a musical prodigy in his parents’ eyes. Kreacher was bustling about in the kitchen, presumably overseeing dinner. Sirius slipped silently up the stairs with Moony and shut his bedroom door as quietly as he could. His eyes immediately fell on the wardrobe in the corner. He felt stupid for not thinking of that before. Resting Moony gently on his bed, Sirius pulled the doors open and pushed apart the hangers, tucking the guitar carefully inside. He'd need to put his own clothes away now, which would definitely arouse suspicion, but it would be worth it.

“Sirius! Come downstairs now!”

 

The voice made him jump, and he scolded himself for being so on edge. He did as he was told, and went to meet his mother in the dining hall. Regulus was sitting next door in the lounge with a copy of _Hamlet_ in his lap, pretending he understood what he had been asked to read. He glanced up when he saw his brother come downstairs, but quickly looked away again when Walburga emerged from the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” she asked sharply, not even blinking as she fixed her grey eyes on her son’s. Sirius had forgotten that the detour to the record shop must have added a good fifteen minutes onto his journey.

“Uh, I just walked home slow, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sirius held up his hands in surrender.

“It’s true,” he said. “Honest.”

His mother blinked dismissively and took a seat by the table.

“Your father has cut a deal with a . . . company,” she said shortly. Sirius tried his best not to look indifferent, though everyone knew he couldn’t care less about his father’s work. His mother went on, her face expressionless. “He’s going to be away for another few weeks, and he may require my services now and then.” _God_ , Sirius thought, _how dramatic was she?_ Sure, she was involved in her husband’s work, but she really wasn’t a vital part of the business. Her superiority complex was almost laughable. “Kreacher will be around as usual,” she went on, “and I expect you to be on your best behaviour when I’m not here.”

Sirius had to try with all his might to contain his excitement. His mother never left the house for long; she didn’t trust Sirius when she couldn’t keep her eye on him. But her absence even for an evening or two would be bliss. With a surge in his stomach, Sirius realised that this meant he could play his new Moony in peace. Kreacher was basically half-deaf and Regulus was easy to get around. Sirius cleared his throat when he realised his mother was still speaking, and forced himself to concentrate on her words.

“You will be respectful to your brother and stay out of his way. I don’t want him around you too much, do you hear me?”

Sirius nodded obediently. Regulus was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Yes, mother.”

Upstairs, the guitar in his wardrobe was practically screaming to be played.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short filler. Sorry the lead-up is taking so long.

“You actually bought a guitar?”

 

James was looking at his friend as if he’d just admitted to investing in a cocaine stash as opposed to an instrument. Sirius shrugged and put his feet up on the desk. The aloof bad-boy look came so easily to him, when he really wanted it to. At the front of the classroom, the teacher was writing something on the chalk board; talking about poetic devices or something equally useless.

 

“Was dirt cheap,” Sirius said, glancing briefly over his shoulder to acknowledge the girl behind him who he knew had been eyeing him up the whole lesson. Her name was Louise, but of course Sirius pretended not to know that. Knowing people’s names wasn’t cool. “Yeah,” he went on, making sure his voice was just loud enough for a few classmates to overhear. “Can pretty much play my way through every Bowie album there is.”

 

A sharp _shhh_ from the teacher earned Sirius a few admirable glances and flirtatious giggles from the girls. James just snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

“Like hell you can. Your mum’s gonna kill you. Bet you can’t even hold the thing right.”

 

Now that everyone’s attention was safely back on the blackboard, Sirius leaned in so he was whispering only to James.

 

“Last night I made a dent in my wall because I was trying to play it like Mick Ronson does.”

 

James laughed again then, properly, biting down on his lip so as not to attract the teacher’s attention.

 

“Why the fuck were you trying to look like _him_? Did you see him on _Top of the Pops_ that time? He looked like your cousin with all that blonde hair.”

 

“Mick Ronson does not look like bloody Narcissa! That’s an insult to him, if anything.”

 

Sirius began scraping the lyrics to _Starman_ into his desk with a black Biro.

 

"You know,” he added, still under his breath, “I think I’m going to be the best fucking guitarist there is. If you give it time, like.”

 

James pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I’m guessing by ‘time’ you mean a couple hundred years.”

 

Sirius ignored him, busy admiring the artwork he’d etched into the wood. He’d doodled a few planets and constellations alongside the lyrics, as well as a faceless astronaut. 

 

_There’s a starman waiting in the sky,_

_He’d like to come and meet us_

_But he thinks he’d blow our minds._

 

“What d’you think he was thinking of when he wrote this?” Sirius mused aloud. James glanced over and frowned.

 

“Bowie? Dunno. Some cool bloke, by the sounds of it.”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly, trying to put a face to the Starman, but unable to picture anyone that would fit. “Yeah, must’ve been.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this story will turn wolfstar eventually, but you gotta put up with Sirius playing a "concert" in his socks first :P
> 
> "Highway Star" is a song by Deep Purple (u should check them out), and Ritchie Blackmore is their guitarist. Just to let you know before you read this chapter :)

A few hushed practice sessions quickly made Sirius realise that maybe he wasn’t on his way to being a pro guitarist after all. It was hard finding gaps in the day big enough for jamming his door shut with a chair and bringing Moony out of the closet, but even when he did, things weren’t going at all like he’d planned. Sirius decided to blame people like Syd Barrett and Jimmy Page; it was their fault for making it seem so easy. Sure, he knew it wasn’t going to happen overnight, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half expecting to have turned into some rock and roll prodigy by this now. It would be like in a movie or something: the oppressed underdog - who also happened to be devastatingly handsome - finally finding his true calling. He’d pick up the guitar, give it a few experimental strums, and then _bam_ , he’d be playing like he was born to do it. After all, the soul purpose of Sirius’ existence was to look and act cooler than everyone else, so it would make sense for him to be a natural. The reality, however, looked more like a playschool workshop, with Sirius sitting on the floor clumsily plucking out _Baa Baa Black Sheep_ while he tried to stop the guitar (which was just a little too big for him) from sliding out of his grasp. The fact that three of his fingers were still plastered up from his “haircut” didn’t help. He was starting to think the wounds were getting infected because on the occasion he’d dared to peel a corner of the bandage off and take a look, he’d been greeted by the sight of a strange yellow substance round the edges of the cuts. Maybe this was what was making him fail so miserably in the guitar department. Either that, or he was just really shit in general. Sirius hoped it was the former.

 

He’d started by trying to play the opening riff from _You Really Got Me_ , figuring that it might be an easy place to begin. This, however, was far from the truth, so he had to resort to the simplest melodies he could think of in order to find _anything_ that he might actually be able to get right. Going from out-of-tune nursery rhymes to Jimi Hendrix seemed near impossible, but the sheer desperation to be like the guys on the posters - and more importantly, do something he knew would drive his mother up the wall - forced him to keep going.

 

*

 

The first success came after his mother had left to stay at her husband’s apartments in Kensington. There was some “important” conference going on, so they said, meaning that Walburga would be away for a few days. Hearing the door close behind her as she went was like hearing the gates to heaven opening. Kreacher had been given strict orders to keep his eye on Sirius and Regulus, but Sirius wasn’t stupid. There was no way the old git would be able to watch out for both he and his brother whilst also trying to keep up with the housework at the same time. Kreacher was getting pretty slow these days, and Sirius knew exactly how to exploit him. As far as punishments went, Regulus was pretty much untouchable. Their mother wanted to believe that she had raised at least one child who wasn’t a disappointment, and so anything Regulus did wrong was seen as a result of Sirius’ bad influence. If Regulus forgot to say please or thank you, it was because of Sirius; if he accidentally spilled something or made a mess, it was because of Sirius. Regulus was the good boy, the perfect son, the innocent victim of his brother’s toxic behaviour. And yeah, this pissed Sirius off, but it meant he could set Regulus up to do anything Sirius wanted him to, and Reg himself wouldn’t get in any trouble.

 

So one evening when Sirius decided that he’d like more than the usual couple of minutes’ practice with Moony, all he needed was a tube of paint and his mother’s absence to get it.

 

“You’re sure I’m allowed?” Regulus asked, wide eyes staring down at the bottle of violent red paint in his hands. Sirius smiled encouragingly and nodded his head.

 

“‘Course I’m sure. Do what you want with it! Put it on your bed covers, on your clothes, maybe a bit on the walls if you like . . . ”

 

Regulus’ jaw dropped at the prospect.  

 

“Mother’s not going to punish you for it?”

 

Sirius just laughed.

 

“Reg, our mother is a cultured and sophisticated woman. She of all people knows how to appreciate art.”

 

Only moments later, when Sirius was safe in his room with Moony, Kreacher’s voice sounded from the hallway.

 

“ _Christ, she’s going to kill me!”_

 

Kreacher was forbidden from laying a hand on Regulus, and wasn’t actually a violent person unless asked to be. For now, there was nothing he could do but scrub away at the paint with various different cleaning products and pray that the “art” would rub off. Mentally high-fiving himself for this small victory, Sirius set to work with Moony. Sometimes he’d walk around the room just holding the guitar and miming playing an epic Zeppelin-style solo. It was better than confronting the fact that he couldn’t really play anything at all. Today, with his mother gone and Kreacher occupied, the world was Sirius’ stage (or rather, the bed was, but that was a minor detail).

 

Mustering up as much daring as he could, Sirius began setting up his turntable under the bed and put on _Highway Star_. The sound was muffled, but just loud enough for Sirius to imagine the music ringing in his ears; hundreds of fans with their arms in the air, all dying to get closer to the stage. The crowd were dancing and singing along, wearing shirts with Sirius’ face on, and slogans like _Sirius Black is the coolest bastard ever_ _and his mum’s a tosser_. Maybe the merch wouldn’t look _exactly_ like that, but he could find someone to take care of that job. Standing on his bed in his socks, Sirius had never felt so cool. When the guitar solo started, he dropped dramatically to his knees and threw his head back, singing along to the track using his best “guitar noises”. Just as the lyrics were kicking back in again, Sirius’ fingers brushed Moony’s strings, and he almost fell off the bed when he heard the resulting noise.

 

“That was a D!”

 

He wasn’t much use at this stuff without sheet music, but he was sure he’d just played a D chord. After a few attempts at trying to recreated it, Sirius pressed his fingers down on the fretboard and strummed the strings with his bad hand. It sounded like the beginning of the canon he’d tried to play once, ages ago. Definitely a chord.

 

“Oh my God,” Sirius breathed softly, staring down at his hands as if they were magic. “Oh my God!”

 

The song on the turntable was coming to an end, but Sirius wasn’t listening. He let the guitar slip from his grasp and onto the duvet before jumping off the bed and running a victory lap of the room.

 

“I’m a fucking _genius_ !” he whooped, smacking his hand on his knee in triumph. He picked up the _Highway Star_ sleeve and kissed it. “Blackmore, mate, I’m coming for you.”

 

Sirius returned to Moony and strummed the chord again and again, blessed to hear himself playing something that wasn’t _The Wheels on the Bus_.

 

“That bus can suck my ass,” he grinned to himself. The pattern of notes seemed familiar in a way, and after fishing out _Moonage Daydream_ from his pants drawer and sticking it on the record player, Sirius knew why. The first chord on the song sounded just like the one he’d learned to play. As far as Sirius was concerned, he was now half way to becoming Bowie himself. After all, it was the small victories that mattered. He clutched his guitar tightly to his chest, heart beating with excitement against the wood.

 

“I love you, Moony.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, finally, time to meet Remus!!!

After a few days, Sirius could almost play the chords for _Moonage Daydream_ the whole way through. He didn’t have the best singing voice to go with them, but that didn’t stop him. Some of the notes didn’t sound quite right, and of course there was a long way to go, but he didn’t care. He was probably the happiest he’d been in his life, knowing that he had his _own guitar,_  and that _he could actually play it_. Best of all, he’d taught himself. He didn’t need help. It was the best damn feeling in the world. His mother would be returning this evening, but Sirius found that he wasn’t scared. No matter what she did to him, he could handle it. Because maybe being locked in his room without food wouldn’t be so bad if he had Moony there for company. Maybe getting screamed at wasn’t terrible; because mother could call him _worthless_ , _imbecile_ , _devil_ , and he would secretly know that even though he may be all those things, he was a fucking good guitar player as well. Or at least he would be, eventually.

 

School was amazing, because for once he could brag about something that was actually true, and, like always, everyone believed him. James wasn’t completely convinced, but even he was starting to sound interested. Being a guitar player was apparently the best way to win the hearts and attention of the whole school - even though he’d pretty much won that years ago. But now, he was a star. This must be how Bowie felt, knowing that everyone loved and adored him. There was nothing like it.

 

And so maybe The Slight Incident was Sirius’ own fault, because there was a small chance that he might’ve been feeling just a tad bit more confident in himself than he ought to be. Self-confidence was not a concept that Sirius was that familiar with, and it was all too easy to get high on. He’d decided that he was going to bring Moony into school tomorrow, because he was going to go insane if he didn’t get to show off his prized possession at least once. The look on James’ face once he saw the guitar would be brilliant - James’ parents loved music as much as he did, but the one thing they’d always refused to get him was a guitar. Too noisy, they said. Not worth the money. Sirius didn’t quite understand that part because Moony barely made much noise at all, but still. The catch of showing Moony to the world was that people would without a doubt ask him to play something. Sirius was proud of how far he’d come, but he figured he’d hyped himself up just a little too much. Expectations would be high, and he wasn’t quite ready to live up to them. He’d have to use the excuse of his fingers (which, he’d told them, had been messed up during a fist-fight outside a pub) not to play anything in front of anyone.

 

Eager as ever, Sirius finished his dinner in a flash and rushed upstairs before Kreacher could tell him off for bad manners. He had plenty of time to get ready in the morning, but he wanted to get Moony ready as soon as possible. Grabbing an old sock from the floor, he made a fair attempt at getting rid of the dust on the fretboard before taking the case out of the closet and slipping Moony inside.

 

“Sirius!”

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

His mother’s voice, all too familiar, boomed from downstairs, just as Sirius was tucking the head of his guitar into the top of the case. Automatically, Sirius’ flight instinct kicked in. The sound of footsteps on the stairs unleashed a surge of nervous energy in him, and before he could think properly, he grabbed Moony and threw it haphazardly into the closet, resulting in a devastating crash. Sirius let out a small gasp as he realised what he’d done, but there was no time to check the damage. Someone was working the door handle, so he slammed the wardrobe shut and tried to look at not-suspicious as possible.

 

When his mother opened the door, she made a face like she’d just smelled bad milk.

 

“Do you care to explain,” she said icily, not even bothering to greet him, “your appalling manners at dinner this evening?”

 

Sirius began chewing on his nails. Great. Half a second in and she was already having a go. Kreacher had obviously grassed on him, the bastard. Just wait til she found out about the paint incident.

 

“Uh-”

 

His mother had grabbed him by the collar before he had the chance to make up an excuse.

 

“If I hear that you’ve stepped a _foot_ out of line when I’ve been gone, your father will make you regret it.”

 

She threw him roughly to the ground and left without another word. As soon as the door clicked shut, Sirius turned heel and threw open the wardrobe to assess the damage. And _fuck_ he almost cried out when he saw that one of Moony’s strings was broken; snapped right off near the top.

 

“No,” Sirius breathed, cradling the guitar like a dying lover. “I killed my baby,” he whispered, biting down hard on his lip. How the fuck was he meant to fix this? Maybe if he could get to the telephone, James would know what to do.

 

*

 

“Go to a shop, tosser. ‘S not rocket science.”

 

Sirius frowned.

 

“What kind of shop?”

 

There was a snort of laughter from the other end of the phone, and Sirius peered quickly over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking.

 

“I’ve only got a few seconds,” he hissed. “Unless you want me to get my face bashed in. _What kind of shop_?”

 

“A _guitar_ shop! Fucking git. Just buy a replacement there, you can go tomorrow after school. There’s that one down by Kwiksave, you know?”

 

Sirius nodded, then remembered his friend couldn’t see him.

 

“Right, fine. Cool. Bye.”

 

*

 

Sirius had passed the guitar shop before, but deep down he’d always been a little scared to go in. It wasn’t like the places he and James went, packed with people their age trying to bag a few cheap records. The guys in there were professionals; _real_ musicians. Or at least they acted like it. They all had beards and wore Bob Dylan shirts and spent ages at the till having in-depth conversations about strumming techniques and whatever the fuck else. As far as Sirius was concerned, they were a different species altogether.

 

Today, James had produced some feeble excuse about having to get home early, leaving Sirius outside the shop alone. From here in the street, it didn’t look like there was anyone inside, but it was definitely open. Sirius took a deep breath and opened the door.

 

The place was packed with - surprise, surprise - guitars; stacked on stands and hanging on every wall. There were boxes of records in the centre of the room, and then, by the til, a boy sitting on a stool with a guitar. He looked about Sirius’ age, maybe a little older, and the first thing Sirius noticed was how fucking cool his guitar looked. It wasn’t sharp and pointy like Moony. Instead it was rounded at the edges, painted a soft red colour, and littered with stickers. The boy was playing something Sirius almost recognised, his slim fingers dancing smoothly up and down the strings. It sounded amazing. With a quick glance around, Sirius realised there was nobody else here, so he cleared his throat to speak. The boy stopped playing and looked up, and Sirius almost took a step back, though he wasn’t sure why. The stranger had really nice hair, incidentally; nothing like the long, greasy caveman-style that every guy seemed to be going for these days. It was cropped short at the sides and then thick and curly at the top, falling down over his eyes (which, Sirius noticed, were very wide and honey-coloured). He was wearing white cargo pants that clung tightly to stick thin legs, and a brown knitted jumper that was way too big. Somehow, though, the look worked. He raised an eyebrow, and Sirius realised he must have been staring.

 

“Uh, d’you have guitar strings?” he blurted out, feeling a flush creep its way onto his face. The boy snorted, then smiled. It was a nice smile, Sirius thought.

 

“I should hope so, otherwise we’re really not doing our job properly.”

 

 _Dammit._ Had he really just walked into a shop full of guitars and asked if they sold strings? Trying to summon some of his usual confidence, Sirius smiled back and nodded.

 

“Cool. So, uh, can I, like, buy one?”

 

The boy got to his feet and propped his guitar up against the counter. Fuck, he was tall. Sirius had thought they might be the same age but now he wasn’t sure.

 

“What string you after, then?”

 

Sirius blinked. For all the fake concerts and pretend interviews in the shower, he really had no clue what he was talking about. After a slight pause, he settled on:

 

“The big one.”

 

The boy laughed hoarsely and started rummaging through a cardboard box on the counter.

 

“What kind of guitar you got?”

 

Sirius bit his lip. _Shit_. A black one? He didn’t fucking know. For once in his life, he decided to swallow his pride.

 

“I don’t know,” he said, feeling his face growing warmer by the second. He was usually pretty good in even the most embarrassing of situations, but there was something about this boy that made Sirius feel like a dumb kid. Even with his stupid jumper and the dusting of freckles across his nose, he still seemed way cooler than Sirius. The most infuriating part was that he clearly wasn’t even trying.

 

“How long have you been playing for?” Jumper Boy asked, his voice less teasing than before. He had looked up from the box and was watching Sirius with a warm gaze that made Sirius feel oddly vulnerable.

 

“Not long,” he replied. “Almost two weeks, I guess.”

 

Jumper Boy nodded, and Sirius was relieved to see that he didn’t seem to look down on Sirius for his lack of expertise.

 

“Tell you what,” he said. “Why not you bring it in tomorrow and I can fix it for you?”

 

Sirius heart leapt at his words. Having Moony sitting broken in his closet was already stressing him out. He needed to get it fixed, pronto.

 

“Y-you can do that? You don’t mind?”

 

The boy shrugged.

 

“It’s what I’m here for. Well, kind of.”

 

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

 

“Okay. Cheers.”

 

He was about to turn and leave before the other boy spoke up again.

 

"What happened to your hand?"

 

Sirius had forgotten what a state he must look. His fingers were still bandaged and had started to get a bit swollen; not to mention his hair, which hadn't quite recovered from being shaved, and now stuck out awkwardly at weird angles. Thankfully the kids at school had thought it was some cool sort of trend.

 

"Must've been practising too hard," he said simply, feeling more relaxed when he got another laugh in reply. “What was it you were playing?" he dared to ask. "Before I came in.”

 

Jumper Boy suddenly looked a little bashful.

 

“Oh. It was The Monkees. _Last Train to Clarksville_  I’m nothing on Mike Nesmith though.”

 

Sirius knew the band, but he’d just kind of assumed they were for hormonal teenage girls. Only this guy could make them seem cool.

 

“I think you played it good.”

 

Jumper Boy smiled.

 

“Thanks. See you tomorrow maybe.”

 

Sirius nodded again and left the shop with his heart practically beating out of his chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Monkees are one of my fave bands of all time and you should totally listen to them ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope someone out there is still interested in reading this...I promise I'm still updating it, honest :P

The next day, Sirius entered the guitar shop to find that Jumper Boy wasn’t there. Instead, a tall man with a mousy moustache and sandy brown hair was sat at the till, flicking through a copy of NME. There were a few customers browsing the record section, but no sight of the face that Sirius had came here hoping to see. The man at the till asked him if he was alright, and so Sirius brought Moony up to the counter (getting it out of the house unnoticed hadn’t been easy) and presented it to the man.

 

“It’s got a broken string,” he said. The man nodded. “When I came in yesterday, the, uh, guy here said he could maybe fix it.”

 

“Alright,” came the reply, “let’s see.”

 

After a brief struggle with the case, Sirius took the guitar out and gave it to the man. He barely even glanced at it before smiling lightly and handing it back.

 

“Just need to re-string the E and that’s you,” he said. “Wanting me to do it for you?”

 

“If you didn’t mind…”

 

“No problem, it’ll only take me a minute.”

 

He began raking through the same box that Jumper Boy had done yesterday, and quickly produced a small, white paper package.

 

“Watch me while I do it,” he told Sirius. “Might as well learn how in case it happens again.”

 

Sirius came closer as the guy took Moony and removed the broken string.

 

“Lyall, by the way,” he said, not looking up from his work. “I own this place.”

 

Sirius couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. He thought the owner of a store like this would look a lot cooler, or at least have a cool name, but maybe his expectations had been too high.

 

Lyall had put the string on in minutes, turning the guitar over and threading it through a box at the back.

 

“You got wire cutters at home?” he asked, taking his own pair out from a drawer on the desk and trimming the top of the string. Sirius shook his head. “Ah well, you can always bring it back here if you manage to break it again,” he said good-naturedly. He began turning one of the pegs at the top of the guitar, plucking the string until it got to the right pitch. He made it look so damn easy. There was no way Sirius would be able to do that.

 

“How long did it take you to get good?” the boy asked tentatively, mentally crossing his fingers in the hope that Lyall would reply with something like _oh, a couple of weeks, tops._ Instead, he chuckled and shook his head.

 

“God, _years_ ,” he said, eyes still fixed on the new string he was tightening. “But even then, there’s always room for improvement, eh? You never stop learning.”

 

Sirius almost wished he’d never asked. He paid for the string, promptly thanked Lyall, and was busy planning how to get Moony back home unseen when he opened the shop door and bumped straight into Jumper Boy.

 

“Oh. Hey,” the tall boy said softly, smiling in a way that made Sirius’ insides feel funny. He was wearing the same cargo pants as before, but this time with a kinks shirt on the top half instead of the baggy jumper. His arms were long and toned, with muscles and veins in all the right places. Sirius quickly let his gaze drop to the floor as Jumper Boy went on. “Dad fixed it for you?”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, just registering that Lyall must be Jumper Boy’s father. They did look a little similar, he supposed.

 

“How’s it going, then?” asked Jumper Boy, nodding in the direction of the case Sirius was holding. Sirius shrugged and felt stupid. He’d thought he was on his way to being a pro, but after hearing this guy playing yesterday, he’d realised that he was probably wrong.

 

“Uh, not great, to be honest,” he muttered, sounding a little more childish than he’d intended. Jumper Boy stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged loosely.

 

“Come by again tomorrow. I’ve got nothing to do so we could practice together.”

 

It took all Sirius had not to yell with excitement, so much so that he’d forgotten to actually reply. Jumper Boy’s eyes were now fixed on the pavement, and his cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink.

 

“I mean, only if you wanted to-”

 

“I want to!” Sirius blurted out, terrified that the other boy might change his mind. If Sirius could get even half as good as him, he’d be satisfied. Jumper Boy looked relieved, then stuck out one of those wonderful guitarist’s hands.

 

“I’m Remus, by the way.”

 

Sirius took his hand and shook it, silently scolding himself when he realised that he was blushing too.

 

“Sirius,” he replied, wishing someone would come and knock him out when his voice broke on the last syllable. He was still trying to get over how bony and strong and soft Remus’ hands were. They were fucking perfect. Once he and Remus had parted ways, Sirius broke into a sprint and ran the whole way home, panting hard by the time he’d reached the front door. James was going to hear all about this tomorrow.

 

_I’ve got a new mate. He plays guitar like nobody’s business. He’s really cool-looking and he wants to play guitar with me. He’s got eyes like the sun and freckles on the bridge of his nose and I’d happily stare at him all day._

 

Or maybe he’d leave out that last part.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sirius arrived at the shop ten minutes after school had finished. That, for him, was definitely a new record. He’d put in a lot more effort in his appearance today than he’d like to admit; his hair he couldn’t save, and he was stuck in his snotty uniform, but he’d managed to make a few adjustments that he hoped Remus would approve of. He’d loosened his tie so that it was hung slack round his neck, and undone the top few buttons of his shirt (which he’d untucked in certain places round his waistband and rolled up the sleeves). Giving himself a once-over in the reflection of the window, he clutched Moony tightly in one hand and opened the door.

 

The shop was empty, bar a man inspecting a blue guitar in the corner, and then Remus, perched on the edge of the front desk with his long legs dangling down. He looked up almost as soon as Sirius walked in, and his face immediately broke into that gentle, slightly crooked smile that Sirius was growing to love.

 

“Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse as usual. His guitar was sitting in his lap, and Sirius couldn’t help noticing the way his hands rested on the fretboard, already in a complex chord position without him even paying attention.

 

“Where’s your dad?” Sirius asked, daring to venture closer and meet those gold-flecked eyes. Remus (though Sirius still referred to him as Jumper Boy in his head), was wearing tight beige trousers and a white button-down shirt, with a brown suit-jacket over the top. It was a fairly average outfit, but he made it look strangely elegant.

 

“He goes to auctions a lot to buy stock, and there’s not many people coming in at this time so he just leaves me to it.”

 

Sirius was immediately jealous, unable to comprehend how it might feel, being left alone in this heaven all day.

 

“How old are you?” he ventured, feeling a little awkward just standing there. Remus seemed to sense this, because he tapped a nearby stool with his foot, hinting for Sirius to sit, which he did.

 

“Just turned sixteen,” came the eventual reply. Sirius was busy unpacking his guitar, and hadn’t noticed the slight pause before Remus’ answer. He glanced up briefly to find that the other boy was sitting with his chin resting on the neck of his own guitar, staring at Sirius intently. Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled weakly.

 

“I’ll be sixteen in a few months.”

 

It wasn’t a lie. Four months was a few, right? Meanwhile, Remus’ gaze dropped then to Moony, and a smiled played softly at the corner of his mouth. His lips, Sirius noticed, were pink and soft-looking. _What?_ He told himself. _It’s just an observation…_

 

“Where’d you get that?” the taller boy asked, obviously referring to Moony. Sirius hesitated as if it were a trick question.

 

“Uh, just some place in town…"

 

“It’s nice.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And...dirty.”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

*

 

Eventually, with their combined effort and an astonishing amount of polish, they’d managed to get Moony looking brand new. Remus had given Sirius a brief lesson on the basic anatomy of the guitar, so now Sirius could move on from calling the head “the top bit” and the body “the big bit”. It made him feel a lot more professional. When it came to actually playing, however, it was a slightly different story.

 

Sirius had insisted that his bad fingers wouldn’t affect his performance, but Remus didn’t seem so sure.

 

“I want to play _Moonage Daydream_ ,” Sirius said firmly, eyeing Remus with a determined stare. Remus smiled a little again, but there was a clear look of doubt on his face..

 

“You won’t be able to play half the chords,” he said, indicating Sirius’ hand. “I didn’t really think that through...Maybe we could do this again once it’s better?”

 

“No,” Sirius insisted. “It’s pretty much healed anyway.”

 

He quickly ripped the bandages off, biting down hard on his lip to mask the pain. Remus winced and shrunk back a bit.

 

“Don’t do that,” he mumbled, though he could clearly see that Sirius had already made up his mind.

 

“I’ve got it down, mostly,” Sirius said, ignoring the throbbing in his fingers as he strummed out the opening the chords. It was hard not to feel self-conscious when he could feel Remus’ eyes on him, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be shy. When he was finished, Remus was quiet for a moment.

 

“You learnt that yourself?”

 

Sirius nodded. His fingers hurt like hell, but he didn't care. Remus liked what he'd played, which was what really mattered.

 

“That’s pretty decent, you know. But I think you should play an F sharp instead of an F. It’ll sound better.”

 

F sharps were not as easy as Remus made them look. After a few hard-to-follow demonstrations, Remus put his own guitar down and came to crouch behind Sirius.

 

“Barre chords are a bitch to learn at first,” he said, “so you could do it this way instead.”

 

He put his own hand over Sirius’ and gently guided him to the right strings. Sirius wasn’t used to anyone touching him, unless it was with the intention of hurting him. Strangely, though, he almost felt disappointed when Remus took his hand away again. Heart pounding in his ears, Sirius let his fingers steady and then played the chord. And of course it sounded miles better than what he’d been playing before.

 

“That’s fucking cool!” he breathed, turning to face Remus, only to find their faces were now mere inches apart. Remus quickly pulled back, blushing, but there was a smile on his face. Sirius let his gaze linger on the other boy a while longer, stunned by the way his eyes shone beneath the stray curls that fell down over his forehead. Remus seemed oblivious, now busy fiddling with the tuning pegs on his own guitar.

 

“You know,” he said, not looking up, “I think you’re a natural.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Sirius decided that he didn’t need a lunch break. James was off school “sick”, and the other boys were proving way too dull in comparison. Sirius didn’t fancy teasing the girls today, either, and the idea that Remus would probably be in the shop alone right now was far more tempting than the thought of spending another minute on the school grounds. Ignoring the awestruck gasps of the other kids (who were way too easily impressed, as far as Sirius was concerned), he vaulted swiftly over the front gate and made for the city centre.

 

As he’d promised yesterday, Remus was indeed sitting by the till alone, arms folded over the counter with his head leaning on his hands. There was a Bob Dylan song playing from somewhere, and Remus was singing along softly to himself. When Sirius came in, the other boy practically jumped out of his skin. Sirius felt bad for startling him, but more so he was trying to comprehend the sound he’d just heard coming from Remus’ mouth. It was bloody gorgeous.

 

“Your...Your voice…” Sirius began, unable to find the right words. Remus was blushing - something he seemed to be doing more each time Sirius saw him - but he smiled.

 

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

 

Sirius frowned, slightly disappointed that Remus didn’t want to keep singing for him. He shrugged and adopted his best bad boy pout.

 

“Shouldn’t you be at school, too?”

 

The corner of Remus’ mouth quirked up in that usual crooked smile.

 

“Given that I don’t go to school, I shouldn’t think so.”

 

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

 

“How rebellious of you.”

 

Remus rolled up the sleeves of the cardigan he was wearing and began tidying away the stray bits and pieces that were lying out on the counter.

 

“No,” he said casually. “I mean, I don’t go at all. I’ve never gone.”

 

Sirius didn’t understand. Remus could obviously sense this, because he went on.

 

“I’m homeschooled. Kind of.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Sirius had heard of that before, but he hadn’t realised that people actually did it. The thought of having to be taught at home sounded torturous. Then again, Remus’ dad seemed pretty cool, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad for him.

 

“I couldn’t bring my guitar,” Sirius said abruptly, changing the conversation. His mother had been lurking about near the door all morning, and getting Moony out unseen would’ve been impossible.

 

“That’s okay,” Remus said gently, tucking away some spare strings in a drawer. “We can practice another time.”

 

Sirius thought that maybe this was Remus telling him to clear off, but it quickly became apparent that this wasn't the case.

 

“Want to see my vinyls?” the taller boy asked, his eyes lighting up at the very words. Sirius gasped and nodded eagerly, not caring that he was acting like an excited toddler. Remus grinned and bent to retrieve a big cardboard box from underneath the desk.

 

*

 

About an hour later, Remus had shown Sirius every record he owned, from The Monkees to The Kinks, and even some Bowie here and there. Sirius had learned that Remus’ favourite Bowie song was _Life On Mars_ , which Sirius had told him was an excellent choice. They talked about Pink Floyd, and Remus had said that he thought Syd Barrett was the coolest-looking guy he’d ever seen. Sirius told Remus about how some people thought he looked like a young version of Syd Barret, and that had made Remus blush for some reason. Remus told Sirius that he wanted to be a teacher when he was older, and Sirius told Remus that he wanted to be David Bowie when he was older, and Remus laughed. Remus was a lot more shy than Sirius had first thought, but God, he was wonderful. He seemed to radiate this incredible aura of wit and intelligence; Sirius noticed the way his eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, or the way he bit his lip subconsciously whenever he flicked through the box of records. Something about all this was even better than playing guitar together. It was quiet and intimate and special. Sirius was just about to tell Remus this when a thought hit him, and he almost smacked his forehead into Remus’ when he made to get up.

 

“I forgot I’m supposed to be at school right now,” he said hurriedly, and Remus watched him with a look that suggested he was trying not to laugh.

 

“You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

 

“Dunno,” Sirius shrugged, panicking at what his mother might say if she found out what he’d been doing. He wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty, but something made him feel like he was hiding something more from her than just sneaking off to a music shop now every day. He glanced up at the clock hanging above a row of guitars. Lunch had finished ten minutes ago, so he’d only be twenty minutes late for class. That wasn’t so bad, right? He’d just have to make sure the teachers didn’t tell his parents.

 

Pulling his blazer on and making for the door, he gave Remus a quick wave and left. The whole way back to school, all he could think of was how glad he was that he’d forgotten his guitar.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a wee filler, and was originally supposed to come later, so I had to do a bit of chopping and changing. If there's any glaringly-obvious plot holes because of this, please let me know! xD

“So,” James said, taking a bite from the apple he was holding. “What you’re trying to tell me...is that you’ve replaced me with some guitar-playing git?”

 

Sirius wasn’t listening. He was busy working on the  _S_ _tarman_ doodle he’d done on his desk back when he bought Moony. Currently, he was editing the once faceless astronaut he’d drawn; adding facial features with some freckles and curly locks of hair. It looked far better now, he decided.

 

All the other kids had gone outside for break, but Sirius didn’t feel like joining them. His mind was too busy thinking back to yesterday with Remus. He’d got yelled at for being late, but he was pretty sure the teacher wasn’t going to snitch on him to his parents.

 

“D’you think I should try and get my hair like Bowie’s?” Sirius asked suddenly, eyes still fixed on his drawing. James snorted.

 

“What, grow it long at the back and dye it bright red? Oh, yeah, I think you should. Your ma’ would _love_ that.”

 

Sirius frowned.

 

“ _No_. I mean, like, get it spiky and fluffy like that?”

 

James tossed his apple core across the room, where it narrowly missed the bin and landed on the floor.

 

“Dammit,” he muttered. “No-one has short hair anymore, mate. It’s not cool.”

 

Sirius’ mind automatically conjured up an image of Remus, and he laughed.

 

“That’s not true. I’ve seen a couple of blokes recently with short hair, and they look fucking awesome.”

 

“Don’t say that,” James laughed, wrinkling his nose a bit. Sirius didn’t quite see what the problem was, but he didn’t bother pursuing it.

 

“I really want you to meet him,” he said, picking absently at the fresh bandage he’d put on his fingers last night. His mother had yelled at him for getting his hand in such a state, as if it wasn’t her fault that he’d been hurt in the first place. And what did she expect, when she never allowed either of her children to go to the doctor?

 

“Who, Guitar Boy?” James was saying. “I dunno, mate, don’t you think it’s a bit…” he trailed off before finding the right word. “Weird?”

 

Sirius looked up, then. James’ gaze was fixed on the wall before him, but his eyebrows were knitted together in an expression Sirius couldn’t read.

 

“How’s it weird?”

 

The other boy just shrugged.

 

“It’s just, like, you’re obsessed with him, you know? You’re always telling me weird little details about him, talking about how _cool_ he looks- ”

 

“I am _not_ ” Sirius said sharply, the edge to his voice clear. Suddenly he felt like he was talking to his mother rather than his best friend. What did it matter to James anyway? It was none of his business how he felt about Remus. Not that he felt _anything_ about Remus. Well, he _did_ , of course; he loved Remus. Because mates love each other, of course. But apart from that he didn’t feel anything at all. And even if he did, no-one else needed to know about it. “He’s my _mate_ , and if you’ve got a problem with that-”

 

James held his hands up in surrender and sunk back a little in his chair.

 

“I’m not having a go at you-”

 

“Good,” Sirius spat, getting to his feet before James could call him back. “Because I don’t even like him that much anyway so there’s no point getting jealous.”

 

Without waiting for protest, he left the classroom without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might seem a little edgy and over the top, but when you're a fucked up kid like me or Siri, your mood can spiral down pretty quickly lol. I hope you enjoy me projecting my depression onto my fave character ;)

Sirius sat in the corridor with his chin resting on his knees. Right now he was experiencing a feeling he was all too used to feeling; the urge to run. To escape everything and everyone, to just disappear into himself, and he had no clue why. Whether it was his mother or the teachers or James when he didn’t understand something; it felt like he was always being forced to try and justify himself, and it was tiring. Everyone wanted to hurt him, to use him, even if they made out like they didn’t.

 

 _Everyone except Remus_ , Sirius thought. Remus was kind and gentle and he knew when to change the topic or stop asking questions . Sure, he and Sirius barely knew each other - they spoke more about music than they ever did about themselves - but Sirius already thought Remus was fucking brilliant. Of course James would always be Sirius’ best mate (even though he could be fucking annoying sometimes), but Remus was so _different_. He was endlessly cool in every way, and Sirius found himself wanting to be around him all the time. Remus made Sirius feel safe, and Sirius had never felt safe before in his whole life.

 

So why did he feel like he was carrying this huge weight upon his shoulders? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was allowed to be _friends_ with someone. It was James’ fault for making him feel so guilty; James was just jealous. He thought back to what he’d said before he left the classroom: _I don’t even like him that much anyway_. If that had been true, then all of this could’ve blown over, and Sirius would just go back and tell James he was sorry. But, rather inconveniently, it wasn’t true at all. In fact, it was turning out to be the biggest lie Sirius had ever told.

 

*

 

That evening, he sat on his bed with Moony in his lap, softly strumming some rough chords that were supposed to resemble Pink Floyd’s _Echoes_. His mother had left for Kensington that afternoon without saying goodbye, and wouldn’t be back for a few days. Usually, this would’ve made Sirius jump for joy, but that didn’t feel right somehow. Everything felt wrong. _He_ felt wrong.

 

It was so fucking pathetic, but right now he felt like he’d pay to be anyone else in the world. Someone who people liked and treated nicely all the time; someone who didn’t have to pretend every day, whether it was to look cool to the other kids at school, or to fool his mother into thinking he didn’t care what she said about him - when really, he felt every single word. Maybe it was stupid of him to feel so lonely, but then again, why shouldn’t he? Regulus was next door, probably doing his homework; Kreacher was in the kitchen washing dishes. A few streets away, James would be watching _Top of the Pops_ with his parents, or telling his dad about his day at school, and his shitty friend who always lashed out for attention because he has mummy issues. And Remus - where would he be right now? Sirius didn’t know, but he was dying to be there with him.

 

He’d barely spoken to anyone all day, he realised. He’d almost forgotten what his own voice sounded like. There was no-one to keep him company, so the music would have to do. Quietly, barely audible, he managed to croak out the last verse of the song, not caring that he still hadn’t got the hang of singing and playing at the same time.

 

_And no-one sings me lullabies,_

_And no-one makes me close my eyes,_

_So I throw the windows wide_

_And call to you across the sky…_

 

He wished it was Remus singing those words. Sirius was convinced that Remus’ voice could fix anything. _Shit_ , he thought, _I really am obsessed_. He clutched Moony tighter, realising that maybe the reason he loved the thing so much was because it reminded him of the guitar shop, and the boy that always sat quietly by the till.

 

“I love you, Moony,” he said softly, wishing there were someone there to hear it. There was no point trying to sleep tonight, he decided.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was miserable, as far as Sirius was concerned. He and James had made up, mostly, but Sirius hadn’t felt like speaking to him much today. Or anyone, for that matter.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so shit; his mother was away, it was sunny outside, and he was going to see Remus today. There was nothing to be upset about. Other than his shitty family and the way they managed to make him hate himself and feel like a helpless kid. Other than the fact he was apparently _obsessed_ with Remus, who he now felt guilty even for wanting to be around. Other than the fact that he was now crying on the way to the guitar shop, in full view of every passer-by. _Pathetic_.

He stopped by the post office to check his reflection in the window, scrubbing roughly at his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer. This only seemed to irritated his skin and make it turn an ugly shade of red. _Fuck_. Abandoning all hope of looking decent, he crossed the street and made for the usual door.

When he entered the shop and saw the tall boy sitting at the till in a baggy brown jumper, guitar in his lap as always, it took all Sirius had not to jump on top of him and cry. It was hard not to feel flattered when Remus asked him why he hadn’t stopped by yesterday, because the very idea that Remus had been waiting on him was enough to make Sirius feel funny inside.

“I got a new amp today,” Remus told him, gesturing to the box he was resting his foot on. “It sounds so much better now.”

Sirius shuffled closer on his stool and watched expectantly.

“Play something then.”

 

The other boy laughed.

“What d’you want me to play?”

“The same thing I always want to hear.”

*

So Remus played almost the whole way through the _Ziggy Stardust_ album, skipping one or two tracks here and there that he’d not learned properly yet. Sirius stared, barely blinking, in awe of Remus and everything he did. It was hard to believe there was only a few months’ age gap between them, it seemed impossible that someone that young could play so well. What was more astounding, however, was how modest Remus always was about it. If Sirius could play even half as good (which he couldn’t), he’d want the world to know about it.

Being in the shop with Remus, surrounded by only music, Sirius felt oddly at home. By the time the last song came was sat with his eyes closed, humming softly along to the sound of the guitar. He could’ve stayed like that forever, no doubt, until there was a pause, and Remus played out two chords that Sirius knew all too well.

“Fuck!” he cried, eyes snapping open as he jumped to his feet. He’d never heard Remus playing _Moonage Daydream_ before, but he did it perfectly. It sounded a little different to how it did on the album, but there was nothing wrong with that. “Turn it up!” Sirius screeched, clambering up to stand on the stool. Remus was laughing now, and he briefly reached over the till to pick up a pen, which he handed to Sirius.

“You’re going to need a mic,” he prompted, fiddling quickly with a dial on the amp so that the sound filled the air. This beat Sirius’ bedroom concerts by a mile. He could see the crowd now, just like he always did when he sang at home alone. But this time, it wasn’t a one-man-show.

“Be my Mick Ronson, Remus!” he said excitedly, gesturing to the fake crowd as he clutched the ‘mic’. Sirius could hold a tune, but he was not, safe to say, a particularly accomplished musician. This didn’t hold him back, though, and he shouted his way through the whole song; pretending to catch roses and girls’ knickers thrown by the adoring fans. When Remus improvised a solo to replace what was usually the instrumental segment, Sirius almost fell off the stool with excitement. Right now, the people outside in the street didn’t exist. Sirius’ mother didn’t exist. No-one existed except Remus and him, and thousands of make-believe faces that all wanted to be like them.

When they’d finished and had taken their bows, Sirius, now a little drained of energy and panting for breath, turned to face his friend.

“That was fucking cool.”

Remus smiled crookedly and nodded, turning off the amp at the wall and propping his guitar up against the desk. It was silent for a moment before he finally spoke.

“Why were you crying?” he asked softly, watching Sirius with a gentle gaze. The question threw Sirisu off-guard, so he just stared and said nothing. “You were crying before you came in,” Remus went on. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius frowned a little and let his eyes drop to the floor.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. You cheered me up, didn’t you?”

Now it was Remus’ turn to look away.

“Will you promise me something? It’s okay if you don’t want to, but, I just…”

The smaller boy waited patiently, knowing already that he’d promise anything Remus wanted him to.

 

“Will you promise to never stop coming here? Like, ever? I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to see you anymore.”

Sirius felt his face go warm, but he nodded slowly.

“Why would I stop coming? I love it here. Besides, who else is going to tour the world with me?”

That elicited another smile, but it didn’t quite reach Remus’ eyes.

“It’s just, people leave, don’t they?” he said quietly. “They lose interest or...whatever. You know? I’m not the kind of person that anyone wants to be around, particularly. But I know that I want to be around you.”

Pushing away the fear and confusion that was rising in his throat, Sirius nodded.

“You’re my mate, Moony. I think you’re great.”

Remus’ head jerked up a little, then.

“What?”

“What?” Sirius echoed. “We’re mates, right?”

A playful smile ghosted across Remus’ face.

“You just called me Moony.”

_Fuck._ Sirius would have paid in that moment for someone to walk out with a baseball bat and smack him over the head.

 

“Uh, did I?” he said, wishing he was better at playing dumb. Why did he have to be so thick? Remus laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing in that same way they always did. _Fuck_. “Sorry,” Sirius mumbled quickly, eyes darting about as he tried to find anything else to look at.

“Don’t be,” Remus assured, biting on his lip. “It suits me, don’t you think?”

Sirius wasn’t sure whether to hit him or kiss him for that. Anyone else would’ve thought he was a complete freak and told him to fuck off.

“I mean, if it makes it better, I used to call you Jumper Boy in my head. So it could be worse.”

It was meant as a joke, but Remus’ laughter had died down. He was looking at Sirius with a glint in his eye, a slight flush colouring his cheeks.

“The fact that you called me anything in your head at all is an honour.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sirius decided to make the most of his mother’s absence and phone James that evening. He was still buzzing with excitement like he always did when he’d been with Remus, but he thought it would be wise to curve the topic of his new friend just now. Maybe he’d been an asshole for making James feel like he’d been replaced; maybe James was being an asshole for getting cranky over something so trivial. It didn’t matter either way, because they always made up eventually. The fall outs never lasted long.

 

“I’ve decided it’s okay,” James blabbed, before Sirius had even had the chance to say hello properly.

 

“What?”

 

He heard James take a deep breath before continuing.

 

“I mean, Bowie’s like that, right? Everyone’s doing it nowadays…”

 

Sirius held the receiver closer to his ear, as if that would make the words make sense.

 

“I don’t get what you’re talking about, mate-”

 

“Sirius, it’s fine, let’s just go on as if everything’s normal. You’re still my best pal, I don’t care what you’re into.”

 

A long silence stretched out between them, with Sirius too clueless to know what to say. James must have sensed this, because he kept going.

 

“I’m _saying_ , that it doesn’t matter that you’re...that you thinks blokes are...nice. You know? Apparently it’s cool now, so I guess you’re just more trendy than me.”

 

Sirius’ mouth fell open a little at that. What the fuck was James trying to say? He’d heard people talking about if before - mainly the kids at school - but he’d never said that he _himself_ liked getting off with other guys. James was right; everyone these days was obsessed with coming across as ‘ambiguous’ as possible, and there were blokes that hung about outside clubs who had started wearing glitter on their faces and high-heeled shoes. It was all pretty cool, as far as Sirius was concerned, but where had James got the idea that Sirius was one of them?

 

“I-” he started, finding that the words wouldn’t come. “Mate, I...I’m not, like... _bent_.”

 

He said the word in a hushed voice, as if he half expected his mother to swoop down from the sky and slap him just for mentioning it. It went quiet again, as if James was trying to take that in.

 

“But, this guitar guy…”

 

Now it made sense. James wasn’t jealous about being replaced by Remus. He was weirded-out because he thought Sirius fancied Remus. The idea almost made him laugh.

 

“You thought I wanted to snog him or something?” he snorted, trying his best to sound baffled by the very idea. “He’s my _friend_ , plonker.”

 

“Really?” James asked, sounding unsure. “Because I don’t mind if you do, I’m just not used to it is all. As long as you don’t, like, decided you want to snog _my_ face off, then it’s fine. Right?”

 

Sirius hesitated. He’d made it clear that he most definitely did not fancy Remus, but James was acting as if he hadn’t heard him. More importantly, James was acting as if he knew something Sirius didn’t.

 

But so what if it was true? So what if he fancied Remus? James had said it himself; it was cool to kiss blokes now. And yeah, if he was honest, maybe Sirius _did_ want to kiss Remus, a little bit. But he didn’t want to do it because it was cool, or because he’d get loads of attention, or because everyone at school would idolise him for it. He didn’t even want to do it because it was the kind of thing Bowie would do. He wanted to kiss Remus because Remus was beautiful, for lack of a less soppy word. He was kind and funny and intelligent, and he had the kind of mind that you never got tired of exploring.

 

Kissing blokes was cool, apparently. But Sirius had a feeling that falling deeply in love with them was probably not.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading I urge you to google Mike Nesmith wearing his legendary green hat because I think Remus would look wonderful in a hat like that

On Friday, Sirius decided to pretend school didn’t exist. He walked the way he did every morning, except he didn’t stop at the school gates; instead, he kept going towards town. He figured that if he got snitched on for bunking off, it wouldn’t be until his mother returned, which felt like ages away. She got back on Monday, which was plenty of time to prepare himself for whatever abuse she would inevitably hurl at him.

 

When he walked into the guitar shop, Remus’ face lit up, and he quickly got to his feet to greet him.

 

“There’s something I have to show you,” he said immediately, eyes alight with excitement. Suddenly, all the guilt and confusion from before seemed to wash away, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile back like an idiot.

 

“Do share,” he replied, trying to hide his elation. Before Remus could respond, Lyall was standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder.

 

“Alright, pal?” he greeted Sirius with a nod, which Sirius returned. Then, to Remus: "If you’re wanting to take the day off that’s fine by me.”

 

“We’re gonna go to Underground,” Remus told his father, but his eyes were still fixed on Sirius. Lyall smiled.

 

“‘Course you are,” he said with a shake of his head. He was half way through a speech about curfews when Remus grabbed Sirius by the shoulders and escorted him out of the shop.

 

“I’ll come back before it gets dark!” Remus called back as the door shut behind them. The two of them stood on the pavement, neither speaking for a while, until Remus gestured with a nod down the street. “Coming?”

 

*

 

They walked for a while, talking mostly about the new Bowie album that was supposed to be coming out soon. Sirius told Remus that his guitar playing was coming along nicely, which was mostly true, and explained that he was bunking off school for the day because he hated everyone - Remus said that he hated everyone, too.

 

Sirius was so caught up in the joy of having Remus there beside him that he’d almost forgotten that there was actually a purpose to this trip, until Remus suddenly came to a standstill. Sirius looked up at the shop they’d stopped by, and his jaw almost hit the pavement.

 

“When the fuck did that get there?!”

 

Before them, where the old launderette used to be, stood a record shop. But not the kind that Sirius usually went to with James; this one was painted glistening red, with a fancy sign that read _Underground Records_.There were band shirts hanging in the window, with stacks of cassettes and LPs and 45s. There were guitars on stands and a string of coloured lights running from one end of the window to the other.

 

“They just finished doing it up," Remus explained. "Dad took me yesterday, it’s fucking ace.”

 

It really was. The shop was busy even for a weekday, and Sirius could see exactly why. He’d never seen so many different records in one place, and he suddenly wished he’d brought more money with him. He was busy gawking at a shiny copy of _Houses of the Holy_ when Remus told him to “wait there” and proceeded to disappear into the small cluster of shoppers. A moment later, he returned with a small white bundle in his hands.

 

“Here,” he said, holding it out for Sirius to take, which he did. It was a shirt with a picture from Bowie’s 1973 Japan tour on it, and it was fucking beautiful. Sirius just stared at it, then back up at Remus, who was smiling crookedly. “You like?”

 

“For me?” was all Sirius managed to say. Remus laughed and nodded. “I’ve never had a band shirt before.”

 

“Well,” Remus said briskly, “guess I took your band shirt virginity.”

 

Sirius turned bright red then as he tried not to burst out laughing. Even James would never say something like that.

 

“Alright, nutter” he laughed, still clutching the shirt tightly to his chest as he tried to compose himself. “My turn. Stay there.”

 

He slipped past a clothes rack and began searching for the perfect gift for Remus. He didn’t want to get a t-shirt, because that would just be copying, and for all he knew Remus might have them all already. He was starting to run out of ideas when a flash of olive green caught his eye. _Holy shit_. Hanging on a stand with some weird furry scarf-things on it, was a bobble hat just like Mike Nesmith’s. Sirius knew he was Remus’ favourite guitarist, and decided that Remus would look wonderful wearing it. Anything related to The Monkees was old news nowadays, so he hadn’t been expecting to find anything of theirs in a new store. Sirius took the hat up to the till and paid for it, before coming back and presenting it to Remus, whose amber eyes grew wide when he saw it.

 

“Where’d you find _that_?”

 

Sirius smiled proudly and handed the hat to Remus, who shoved it straight over his mop of curls. And _fuck_ , Sirius had been right; it looked brilliant.

 

“It was just kicking about near the back,” he shrugged, trying not to stare at his friend for too long. It was proving to be difficult.

 

“D’you wanna get ice-cream?” Remus asked, biting his lip. Sirius scoffed.

 

“What kind of question is that? ‘Course I want ice-cream.”

 

Remus looked relieved.

 

“Okay, good, because there’s still a whole T-Rex album I want to talk through with you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two bros, chilling in a playpark, one swing apart cuz they're not gay

They sat on the swings in a nearby playpark, Sirius in his Bowie shirt, Remus in his wool hat, each with a 99 cone in their hand. Sirius had discarded his old shirt on the branch of a tree, and though the new one was more than a tad too big, wearing it was the best feeling in the world.

 

“I don’t suppose you buy all your friends cool t-shirts,” he said, licking his ice-cream carefully. Remus smiled softly and shrugged.

 

“I, uh, don’t actually have any other friends except you,” he said sheepishly. Sirius almost didn’t believe that. How could someone like Remus not have friends? He was exactly the kind of person everyone at school would be dying to hang out with.

 

“Why don’t you have friends?” Sirius asked aloud, watching Remus closely with confusion. The other boy shrugged again, eyes fixed firmly on the chips of bark below him.

 

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I had a couple of mates when I was a kid, but it’s hard to stay in touch, you know? I guess it’s because I’ve never gone to school. I’ve never had the chance to make any proper friends.”

 

“School isn’t all bad, you know,” Sirius told him, lapping up the trail of ice-cream that had started to run down his hand. “Why don’t you go and see if you like it?”

 

“Nah. I know I wouldn’t, and I doubt dad would let me anyway.”

 

Sirius didn’t understand that at all. His mother would no doubt go insane if it wasn’t for school; it was the only thing that kept Sirius out of her way. Clearly noticing his silence, Remus went on.

 

“It was my mum’s idea for me not to go to school, and after she died I think my dad was worried about doing anything she wouldn’t have wanted. You know?”

 

“Oh,” the dark-haired boy said softly. He’d never thought about anything like that before. Having your mother die was a pretty big deal, but Remus had never mentioned it before. Sirius didn’t really know what to say, given that he’d pay good money for both his parents to bite it. Eventually he settled on “that’s a bit shit”, which seemed to suffice as it made Remus laugh.

 

“Yeah. A bit. But it’s okay. I’ve got you, right?”

 

Sirius grinned.

 

“Whether you like it or not.”

 

Remus was looking at him carefully, now, a thoughtful look in his eye.

 

“You know,” he said after a second, “you’re right. You do look like Syd Barrett."

 

Unsure of how to react at first, Sirius just cocked his head a little and smiled.

 

“And, as I recall, you said Syd Barrett was super cool-looking, did you not?”

 

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was undoubtedly blushing.

 

“I might have done,” he said teasingly. “I don’t really remember one way or the other.”

 

“Maybe I’ll try get hair like him once it grows back properly.”

 

The taller boy’s eyes drifted to Sirius’ scalp, which was still a little patchy in places.

 

“Why’s your hair like that anyway? I mean, if it’s a stylistic choice then...”

 

Sirius snorted.

 

“No, my ma’ did it. I tried to get my hair long and she went mental and hacked it all off like the crazy bitch she is.”

 

Remus’ eyes were wide, which only encouraged Sirius more.

 

“That’s why my fingers are all funky like this.” He lifted up his bandaged hand. “Almost cut them off, she did. It’s all infected now.”

 

“That’s…” Remus paused as he finished his ice-cream, trying to find the right word.

 

“Fucked?” Sirius suggested, to which Remus nodded, stretching his arms above him and yawning.

 

“It’s boiling,” he muttered, taking his hat off and handing it to Sirius. “Hold this.”

 

Sirius did, though he almost dropped the thing when Remus proceeded to pull his jumper off over his head, making his shirt ride up a little and leaving a strip of his stomach exposed. Sirius let out a small noise and quickly looked away, hoping Remus hadn’t noticed him staring. But _fuck_ , it was hard not to. He had no clue why Remus wore those wooly jumpers all the time, seeing as his arms were so fucking brilliant. Sirius had muscles, yeah, but he was still a tad scrawny from spending countless days locked in his room without meals.

 

Remus was tall and thin, but he was by no means scrawny; he seemed to be toned in all the right places, though you’d never guess it at first glance. It was weird, Sirius thought, because he’d never enjoyed looking at someone so much before. True, sometimes he looked at the guys on posters, or the older boys at school, and thought it might be neat to look like they did. But he didn’t want to look like Remus. He just wanted to look _at_ Remus. Was that weird?

 

“Cheers,” came Remus’ voice, making Sirius come crashing back down to earth again. Remus took the hat back and pulled it down over his ears, tying his jumper by the sleeves round his neck. He was now in just his shirt, a plain white top that clung tightly to his chest and biceps. Sirius thanked the gods then that he’d broken his guitar exactly when he did.

 

Sitting next to Remus whilst he was looking so lovely was sending a hot flush over Sirius' body, and it was getting hard to cope. He needed to move or speak before he did anything stupid.

 

“Remus?” he asked, daring to meet the other boy’s eyes.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Bet you can’t catch me.”

 

Sirius pushed himself off the swing and dropped the remainder of his ice-cream cone on the bark, sprinting across the grass as quickly as he could with Remus following behind.

 

*

 

They chased each other round the park and out the gates, through the streets and crowds of people, until they’d completely lost track of where they were. Eventually, they came to an alleyway leading off the main road that Remus thought looked interesting, so they ventured down the cobbled street side by side, both panting and out of breath. Remus was a lot faster than Sirius had thought, but he figured that had his own legs been a tad longer, he’d probably be able to beat him any day.

 

“Look,” Remus was saying softly, gesturing with a nod to one of the red-brick walls that stretched out above them. It was covered in graffiti, but not the ugly kind that you saw most places; there were flowers and patterns and bubble-letters spelling out words that didn’t entirely make sense.

 

“That’s fucking cool,” Sirius said, and Remus nodded in agreement. There was a moment’s comfortable silence, and Sirius decided to ask something he couldn’t ask James. “Here, d’you ever get lonely?”

 

He could feel Remus turn to look at him, but he kept his eyes on the wall before him, tracing the lines of a spray-painted daisy.

 

“I guess,” came Remus’ voice. “Do you?”

 

Sirius shrugged.

 

“Dunno.”

 

It was silent again, and this time it was Remus’ turn to break it.

 

“I think I get lonely quite a lot, actually. I can’t tell if I like it or if I’m just used to it. You know?”

 

The shorter boy nodded.

 

“I know.”

 

He felt Remus tap his shoe lightly with his foot, and finally looked up to meet his gaze.

 

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Remus said softly, the gold flecks of his eyes shimmering as they caught the sunlight. “We’re mates now.”

 

Sirius stared at the constellation of freckles on his nose and blinked slowly. Remus had the kind of face that made you feel like you were dreaming - it was a nice thing to get lost in.

 

“I want to get out,” he said, and it felt like it was someone else’s voice speaking the words. Right now the universe consisted only of Remus’ eyes; everything else was static. It took him a minute to register that Remus hadn’t responded, so he went on. “I don’t want to be locked up all the time. I don’t want to get yelled at for everything and I want to play guitar without having to hide in my bedroom; I want to wear cool clothes and get my hair like Syd Barrett or Bowie and I want people to leave me alone once in a while.”

 

There was a pause, and Sirius started to worry that he’d said something wrong, so he kept going. He wasn’t always good at keeping his mouth shut.

 

“Not you, though,” he said, eyes darting nervously about, unsure where to look. “I don't want you to leave me alone. Like, ever.”

 

Even then, Remus didn’t reply. He smiled softly at Sirius, then pulled a black marker pen out of his trouser pocket. He brushed past the other boy and reached his arm up to write something on the wall, in the gap between two letters. When he was finished, Sirius stood on tiptoe to read it.

 

_You and I have memories_

_Longer than the road that stretches out ahead_

 

There was a small smiley-face drawn next to it. Remus’ scrawl was messy, but to Sirius it looked wonderful.

 

“I didn’t know you liked the Beatles,” he said softly, taking the pen from Remus and stretching up to add to finish the lyrics.

 

_Two of us wearing raincoats_

_Standing solo in the sun_

_You and me chasing paper_

_Getting nowhere_

_On our way back home_

 

“It’s my favourite song by them,” Remus said, grinning as he watched Sirius draw something slightly rude next to his writing. Sirius was about to invite Remus to add to the masterpiece when a woman’s voice sounded through the alley.

 

“Oi! What d’you think you’re doing?!”

 

“Shit,” Remus hissed, grabbing Sirius by the hand and dragging him down the street and out the other side.

 

“Who the fuck was that?” Sirius asked as they ran, trying to look over his shoulder to find the source of the voice.

 

“Probably owned one of the shops near there.”

 

Sirius laughed then, partly because it was amusing, being caught drawing willies by some angry old tramp; and partly because he’d just spent the whole day with the most brilliant person in the world, and it had been the best day of Sirius’ whole life. Remus laughed with him, and Sirius hoped it was for the same reason.

 

They kept running until they’d reached the park again, and it took Sirius a moment to realise that even though they were safe now, Remus was still holding tightly to his hand.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line in this chapter that I can't take seriously because it reminds me of something really funny that happens in The I.T. Crowd. If you know what it is we're going to be best friends forever. I really shouldn't laugh but...
> 
> Also, I'm aware of how horribly cliched some of my writing is; especially the song choice in this chapter, but I don't care ;) Stand By Me literally never fails to make me cry and it'll always remind me of these boys.

The two boys sat side by side on the curb outside the guitar shop, both still wearing their presents from each other. From inside the store,  _ Stand By Me  _ could be heard playing softly from the speaker. The sun had begun to fade behind paper-thin clouds, and a warm breeze made the hairs on the back of Sirius’ neck stand upright. He knew he should probably get home soon, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if Remus was still holding his hand like he had been earlier. It was the best feeling in the world. 

 

They remained there in comfortable silence, until Sirius yawned and let his head flop down to rest on Remus’ shoulder. It was slightly boney, but nice nonetheless. The silence was golden, but Sirius’ mind was too alive to let it stay that way. 

 

“Sometimes I worry that it’ll be like this forever,” he whispered, staring out at the now empty pavement opposite them. “You know, being controlled by people and told what to do.” 

 

He couldn’t see Remus’ face, but he could picture that look of quiet contemplation that he was slowly beginning to memorise. 

 

“It won’t,” Remus replied, his voice hoarse against the evening air. “Nothing stays the same forever.”

 

“Except us,” Sirius added, though it sounded more like a question. Slowly, Remus lifted his arm to put it round the other boy’s shoulder, letting his hand rest on the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt. 

 

“Except us,” he affirmed, a hint of a smile tinging his words. Sirius let out a sigh, the steadiness of his breath completely going against the wild beating of his heart in his chest. Then, Remus began to sing along quietly to the music from inside the shop. His voice wasn’t pitch-perfect, but there was something about it that sounded simply gorgeous. Sirius didn’t know all the words, but he joined in too all the same. He’d never really cared for this song before, but if it was being sung by Remus then it was his favourite song in the world. 

 

_ If the sky that we look upon _

_ Should tumble and fall, _

_ Or the mountain should crumble to the sea, _

_ I won't cry, I won't cry, _

_ No, I won't shed a tear, _

_ Just as long as you stand, _

_ Stand by me, _

 

_ And darling, darling, _

_ Stand by me, oh, stand by me, _

_ Oh, stand now, stand by me, _

_ Stand by me. _

 

Sirius shivered slightly and lifted his head. 

 

“I should probably head home,” he said. “My brother might think I’m dead or something.”

 

“That’s not good.” 

 

“No.” 

 

He got to his feet and let his shoe scuff lightly over Remus’. 

 

“Have a nice night, Moony,” he smiled, and this time the name was completely deliberate. The tall boy remained seated, the setting sun lighting fires in the gold flecks of his eyes. 

 

“You too,” he murmured. 

 

*

 

Sirius was practically singing to himself as he ran home, thanking the heavens for Remus, for David Bowie, for the fact that no, it wouldn’t be like this forever; and yes, he was going to get away some day. 

 

This was the last thought in his mind when he opened his front door and was greeted by the sight of a tall, ageing man with a cane in one hand. Sirius stopped in the hallway, his blood going cold as panic raced through him. 

 

“Father?” 

 

The man stepped towards him, leaving Sirius trapped against the door. His eyes showed nothing, and when he spoke his voice was dangerously soft.

 

“Don’t call me that,” he said, as his cane came into contact with the side of Sirius’ head and sent the boy crashing to the ground. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this chapter contains violence/child abuse. Also, sorry this is so badly written but my ADHD brain really hates me today.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whimpered, instinctively raising his arms to cover his face as his father came closer. The impact of the fall had caused him to knock his elbow against the side cabinet, and now it throbbed with pain at the joint. What hurt the most, though, was his head. He could still feel the cane against his temple, and could've sworn there was blood trickling down past his eye.

 

“Your mother and I take money out of our own pockets to pay for your education,” Sirius father rasped, his voice still worryingly low. “We waste our own precious time simply trying to _tame_ you, to get you to behave like any decent child should.”

 

Sirius ducked his head and screwed his eyes shut, but the cane was thrust under his chin so he was forced to look up again.

 

“Look at me when I talk to you.”

 

“Father, I didn’t-”

 

“Shut up,” the man hissed, dropping his cane and grabbing his son by the shoulders, shaking him violently. “I know you haven’t been going to school." Roughly, he pushed Sirius against the wall, clutching him by the throat so the boy began to cough. "My Regulus tells me you’ve been getting friendly with ponces, and I swear if that’s true you won’t be stepping foot outside this house again. D’you hear me?”

 

Sirius’ eyes grew wide. How the fuck had Regulus found out about Remus? Usually he would have submitted and apologised, but to hear the person he hated most in the world talking badly about Remus made Sirius see red.

 

“He’s my _friend_ ,” he spat, voice strained as he pushed his father's arm away; daring for once to meet the cold green eyes that burned into his own. “I’m fifteen, I can do what I want. You can’t stop me.”

 

He braced himself for impact when he felt strong hands push him to the ground. The cane came down on his back once, then again, and again, until he cried out like a wounded dog.

 

“Stop it! Stop, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

 

He felt his father’s foot on his spine, the heel of his boot digging sharply into his skin.

 

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

Sirius bit his lip as pain rippled through every inch of his body.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. Silence. He tried again. “I’m sorry, father. I won't do it again. I promise.”

 

He wasn't even sure which part he was apologising for, but it didn't matter. Orion let out a small noise of satisfaction, then dragged Sirius upstairs to his room.

 

Hearing the door lock behind him, Sirius curled up on the floor and dug his hands into his eye sockets to try and stop himself crying. He’d forgotten how to think; how to breathe. Everything hurt and the whole world was spinning too fast. He tried to think of Remus, of his soft voice in his ear, telling him it was okay, telling him that it wouldn’t be like this forever. He thought of the day they’d just spent together, and the way Remus had looked at him before he’d left. But now, the pair of golden-green eyes in his head were replaced by those of his father’s; blank and empty and evil. Remus had never seemed further away. 

 

He lay like that for a while until his chest stopped feeling so tight and he managed to sit upright again. He was still shaking, and _fuck_ , his back hurt, but he dragged himself to his bed and buried under the covers. None of this made sense. Why was his father at home? His mother wasn’t meant to be back until Monday, and even then, father never came with her. And how did Regulus know about Remus? The only person that knew about Remus was James, and James would never snitch. Would he? In all honesty, Sirius didn’t know anymore. All this only proved what he’d believed his whole life; everyone was out to get him. He couldn’t trust anyone because they’d only let him down. Maybe it was his own fault, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Remus was the only person in the world he wanted to be around, and right now, there was a high chance he'd never see him again. Usually he might’ve fetched Moony from the cupboard to make him feel better, but the fear of knowing his father was downstairs was enough to keep him paralysed on the bed. There was dried blood on his face, and he could already feel bruises beginning to form on his back.

 

A hot flush spread over him, as often happened when he had a panic attack. With more effort than he felt was worth it, he pulled off his trousers and pushed them onto the floor with his feet. He kept his shirt on, though, because it reminded him of Remus; of his head on the other boy’s shoulder, and the strong arm wrapped around him. The t-shirt was a tad too big, so he pulled his knees up to his chin and stretched the material over his legs like he used to do when he was a kid.

 

_It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever._

 

Suddenly, it seemed impossible to believe that was true.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protective James ftw <3

The weekend was torturous. Sirius was convinced he’d dislocated his elbow, and lying on the other side of his body for two days just made his other elbow hurt too. He didn’t have a mirror to assess the damage done to his head, but his steadily growing migraine suggested that it wasn’t good. This was probably the millionth weekend of his life he’d spent without food, but that didn’t make it any easier; Kreacher brought him water now and then, but that only made him hungrier. He had panic attacks during the day and bad dreams at night, so much so that he’d almost forgot what sleep felt like.

 

By the time Kreacher came to escort him to school on Monday, Sirius was struggling to stand. The butler refused to leave him until he’d seen Sirius walk through the gates, meaning there was no chance of going to see Remus today (though, to be honest, Sirius didn’t think he’d ever have the courage to see Remus again anyway).

 

All thoughts of this soon left his mind, however, when he walked into the classroom and saw James sitting on a desk with an apple in his hand. Without even stopping to think, Sirius practically pounced on James and grabbed it. His friend jumped back and gawked as Sirius started eating the apple without a word.

 

“Mate, what the fuck?”

 

Sirius said nothing until he’d stripped the apple to the core, then tossed it carelessly into the bin.

 

“So my dad’s back home,” he said casually, not meeting James’ eye. There was a pause.

 

“What?”

 

Sirius could feel his friend tense next to him.

 

“Yeah, uh, he found out about everything. Like, me bunking off and...Remus.”

 

“Guitar guy?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What’d he do?” James asked tentatively, slipping down from the desk to stand by Sirius’ side.

 

“The usual. It’s been worse, so maybe I shouldn’t complain-”

 

“He locked you up again, didn’t he?” James seethed. Before Sirius could reply, James kicked violently at one of the chairs, knocking it with a crash into the desk. The group of girls sitting in the corner all looked up to stare at the two boys. Sirius blushed and apologised, but James barely noticed. “That’s fucking _fucked_ , mate! That’s fucked as fuck! What the fuck?”

 

Unsure of how to respond, Sirius just shrugged.

 

“He can’t fucking do that, Sirius,” the other boy said, eyes dark. Sirius didn’t like seeing him like this. It made him feel guilty for some reason, like he was getting James worked up over nothing.  

 

“Mate, it’s fine.”

 

“No!” James grabbed Sirius by the shoulders, making Sirius flinch and shrink back. Immediately loosening his grip, James’ face softened. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

Sirius’ gaze dropped back to the floor.

 

“I’m not _scared_ ,” he pouted. James’ hands were still on his shoulders, but it was a comforting feeling; nothing like the tight grasp of his father.

 

“You’re allowed to be scared,” James said softly. “Who wouldn’t be? But honestly, mate, you’ll get out of there. And if they do anything else to you I swear I’ll make them regret it."

 

Sirius snorted, knowing no-one would stand a chance against his parents, least of all James. Still, that didn’t matter.

 

“If they do anything else,” James said again, “my folks will take you in. Honest, they will.”

 

The thought of living with James was heavenly, but Sirius reminded himself not to get his hopes up. James’ parents were great, but taking in their son’s messed up friend probably wasn’t at the top of their bucket list. Still, it was a nice idea to distract himself with.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, too tired to show that he meant it. James patted him on the shoulder and grinned.

 

“Hey. Class doesn’t start for fifteen minutes, which I’m pretty sure is enough time to raid the kitchen and get you something real to eat.”

 

*

 

By the time lunch came, Sirius was feeling slightly better. James had helped him click his elbow back into place (which hurt like a bitch), and given him his water-soaked tie to act as a makeshift ice-pack for his head. It didn’t help that much, but the fact that James was trying so hard seemed to make the pain go down.

 

The two boys were perched side by side on one of the sinks in the bathroom, choosing to ignore the rugby game outside that everyone else was involved in.

 

“I have to see him,” Sirius was saying softly, chewing roughly on his nails. He heard James sigh beside him. He didn’t even need to ask who Sirius was talking about.

 

“I know, mate. But it’s too dangerous.”

 

Sirius knew he was right. It turned out that someone in Regulus’ year had seen he and Remus together in the park, and the word had quickly spread that _Sirius Black was getting cosy with some guy from out of school!_ \- which was apparently scandalous, for some reason. Sirius wasn’t angry, because he knew that Regulus hadn’t meant to get him in trouble. He just liked telling mother everything that was going on at school, usually in the hope that she’d at some point act interested in what he had to say. 

 

“But I’ll go crazy if I don’t see him again.”

 

“I know,” James said, “but you’d have to go during school, and the teachers will just tell your folks.”

 

It was true. Sirius knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He felt James’ arm round his shoulder, pulling him close.

 

“You’ll see him again, mate. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

There was something in his friend’s voice that made Sirius’ spirits brighten all of a sudden. Because this was James, and James always found a way. He’d managed to get Walburga to let Sirius stay over during the holidays; he’d told Sirius where to hide all his records so that he didn’t get found out; he’d snuck him out of school once so he could watch Bowie on _Top of the Pops_. James took all the things Sirius thought were impossible and made them happen. It was what he was best at. He never took no for an answer.

 

“You’ve got enough food in your bag to last you once you get home,” James told him. “And all this evening I’ll be working out how to get you to that shop. Alright?”

 

Sirius nodded.

 

“Okay. And what happens after that?”

 

James just shrugged and smiled.

 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people might ask why Sirius didn't go to the school nurse or something, but based on the stories my mother has told me from her youth, I doubt that would've been much use xD


	18. Chapter 18

Kreacher didn’t come to pick Sirius up after school. Which was odd, because surely his parents knew that he could easily go now to see Remus, now that there was no-one to stop him? Then again, he didn’t have the guts to do that yet. Maybe this was a test to see if he’d do what he was told when left unsupervised.

 

Mustering up all the courage and self-control he had, he forced himself to walk home, making sure to eat on the way back unless he didn’t get the chance to til tomorrow. He silently prayed that he’d get locked in his room again, because anything was better than being near his father. The further he got from school, the more he could feel fear rising in his stomach, in his throat. James’ voice in his head was the only thing that kept him sane.

 

When he finally reached the grey brick house as the end of the road, he noticed a large, black heap at the bottom of the doorstep. Smoke was rising gently from it.

 

“No…”

 

There, in a pile of smouldering ashes, lay what had once been a guitar. The body had melted almost completely, and the strings were broken and curled up at the top. Underneath it lay an array of burned records, cassettes, and his turntable, now smashed into pieces. Draped across the neck of his guitar was all that remained of the Bowie shirt Remus had bought him. Sirius dropped to his knees as tears welled in his eyes. He could feel warmth radiating from the mound of things, but still he reached his hand out to rest on the only inch of guitar that had survived.

 

“Moony…”

 

So that was it. They’d been in his room and burned his stuff. They’d taken away all the proof he had that Remus even existed, save the memory of a tall boy with freckles who Sirius wasn’t even sure was real anymore. In an instant, his grief turned to anger as he stared upon the burned white t-shirt that had brought him so much joy. What gave them the right to take away the only things that made him want to keep on living? Why couldn’t he be like any other kid, who didn’t have to hide his possessions or stash food in his school bag to make sure he got to eat that day?

 

“ _Fuck you_ _!_ ” he yelled suddenly, though his voice broke so it ended up sounding more like a sob. He couldn’t bear to look at the charred mess any longer, so he got up shakily and started kicking violently at the front door. “Bastards! You’re all fucking bastards and I hate you!”

 

He continued to attack the door with his shoe until some of the black paint began to chip, but still he couldn’t calm down. Maybe he was having a panic attack, maybe he was just really fucking mad; at this point he couldn’t tell, and he didn’t care. His mind was clouded by the thought of years of torture and humiliation; all the names he’d been called and the days he’d gone without food or anyone to talk to. Maybe he wasn’t perfect. Maybe he did stupid things or misbehaved at school, but didn’t every kid? What was so wrong about him that made him deserve this?

 

When the thoughts became to much, Sirius didn’t know what else to do but lash out. He smashed his fist into the wood of the front door - and immediately regretted it. Pain rippled through his knuckles, which were now bright red, and he clutched his hand tightly to his chest and let it bleed out onto his shirt. He stood there for a moment, silent, unsure of what to do next. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down, but his head was alive with anger and fear. _It was all too much. It was all too much._ Panic rose in his chest until he buckled over and threw up on the doorstep.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Wiping his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his blazer, he turned heel and ran; not once looking back at the house or the pile of his burning memories.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go after this :)

Sirius burst into the guitar shop, face stained with tears, panting and out of breath. Two customers in a corner looked up and exchanged a confused glance, but he ignored them.

 

“Hey, mate. You alright?”

 

Sirius turned at the sound of Lyall’s voice. The look of concern on the man’s face was obvious.

 

“Where’s Moony-? I, uh, where’s Remus?”

 

Lyall looked him up and down, eyes wide, and gently nodded to the door of the stock room. Sirius didn’t even reply before he practically threw himself down the small flight of steps.

 

The room was packed with cardboard boxes, stacked in piles that almost reached the ceiling. Sat on the floor in the centre of the room was Remus, looking slightly forlorn as he went through a pile of records and stuck price tags on them. Though he wasn’t sure why, the sight only made Sirius cry more. When Remus looked up and saw him standing there, he dropped the vinyl he was holding and opened his mouth to speak; but Sirius didn’t let him. Without a word, he thrust himself into Remus’ lap and wrapped his arms so tightly round his shoulders that it felt like the other boy might break.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius panted into Remus’ neck. He wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

 

Remus was holding him round the waist, hands underneath the material of Sirius’ blazer so he could feel his skin through his shirt.

 

“What happened?” he asked softly, his voice shaky. “Where’d you go? I thought-”

 

“It’s all fucked,” Sirius cried, sobbing loudly and uncontrollably into his friend’s chest. “It’s all fucked and I can’t fix it.”

 

It was hard to make the words out against the crying, but Remus just held Sirius tighter and rested his head on his shoulder.

 

“Tell me what happened,” he said quietly. It took Sirius a moment to try and calm down, and he kept his face buried firmly into Remus.

 

“They burnt my stuff.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“What?”

 

Sirius took a deep breath and tried again.

 

“My p- “ He found he couldn’t say the word. “They went through my stuff and they burnt my guitar and my records and that shirt you bought me…”

 

He trailed off as he began to cry again, trembling in Remus’ arms.

 

“Your parents?” the tall boy asked, his voice hoarse and gentle like always. It was the most comforting sound in the world. Sirius made a small noise that he hoped would answer the question. After a moment’s silence, Remus shuffled out from under Sirius so they were facing one another. The room seemed to melt into nothing as Sirius caught sight of Remus’ eyes.

 

“I thought I’d done something wrong,” he said finally, looking nervous. It hit Sirius then that Remus must have been wondering where he’d gone. The thought of Remus blaming himself made his chest ache.

 

“No,” he said hurriedly. “My dad locked me up is all.”

 

Remus looked worried.

 

“Is this my fault?” he asked, sounding cautious. Sirius shook his head no. He’d never want Remus to think that.

 

“I bet it was mother that did it,” he said softly, more to himself. “She used to go through my stuff all the time. I bet she’s the one who burnt it.”

 

Remus’ gaze remained locked on Sirius, watching the shorter boy’s grey eyes fill once more with tears.

 

“You know,” Sirius mumbled, “I used to actually think she cared about me. I know it sounds stupid, but I did. I thought, you know, maybe she _did_ care, she just didn’t know how to show it. But she doesn’t, does she? She couldn’t give two shits.”

 

He pulled his knees up to his chin, biting down on his lip.

 

“I was so fucking thick for not seeing it before. Thinking she actually had a reason to love me. But no-one fucking cares, do they? Why should they? She’s told me before; she’s told me why she hates me. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I should’ve believed her. No-one fucking cares about me.”

 

He was rambling now, he knew he was, but he couldn’t help it. The tears continued to fall in steady streaks down his face, but Remus remained silent. Maybe he was sat there thinking grow the fuck up, and who could blame him? When Sirius dared to look up again, there was a look in Remus’ eye that he couldn’t read. The silence became agonising, and Sirius was about to apologise for being a pussy when Remus said:

 

“I do, Sirius.”

 

“What?”

 

“I care about you.”

 

Sirius’ heart hammered in his chest as he felt Remus’ hands on either side of his face, holding him gently. For a moment Sirius thought he might have forgotten how to speak.

 

“No-one’s ever said that to me before,” he whispered. Remus stroked his cheek softly with his thumb, his eyes burning into Sirius’ like the sun meeting the moon. Sirius was starting to get nervous, so he dared to go on. “You’re shaking.”

 

A slight smile played at the corner of Remus’ lips.

 

“And you’re blushing,” he murmured. Sirius felt his face grow warmer as he tried not to let his heart burst out of his ribcage. It was panic, but not like the kind he was used to. It was an exciting sort of panic; one that only Remus could bring out in him. A silence stretched out between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with questions that Sirius was too scared to ask, ones that he knew there might not be answers to. He stared back at the other boy, tracing the lines of the constellation of freckles on his nose.

 

Then, Remus leaned in to kiss Sirius lightly on the lips.

 

And _fuck_ , it felt like heaven and fireworks and a million rays of sunshine. And _fuck_ , he wanted it to happen again. So he tilted his head up and pressed their mouths together once more, revelling in the soft, silky feel of skin on skin. Sirius had never kissed anyone before, but if this was what it was always like, he’d been missing out. Strong arms wrapped themselves round him and pulled him back into Remus’ lap, bridging the small gap between them that had somehow still been too big.

 

“I love you, Moony” Sirius breathed between kisses, running his hands through the gentle waves of Remus’ hair. He’d never said that to anyone before, but it felt right.

 

“Are you sure?” Remus asked gently, pulling back for a moment, amber eyes wide. Sirius laughed, if not a little nervously.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The other boy looked relieved.

 

“Oh. That’s good. I think I love you too.”

 

Sirius kissed him some more, and then some more again, until he’d forgotten where his body ended and Remus’ began. This time it was Remus’ turn to pull away.

 

“You can have my guitar, by the way.”

 

 _God, he was good at interrupting_. Sirius watched him carefully to see if he was joking. Remus noticed his look of doubt and just shrugged.

 

“My dad owns a guitar shop. Pretty sure I’ll be able to find a new one.”

 

Sirius’ jaw dropped.

 

“But- but you can’t...It’s _yours_! And it’s so nice...”

Remus smiled.

 

“All the more reason for you to have it then. I want you to.”

 

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. He sat there, heart racing, cheeks flushed, unable to take it all in. That Remus wanted him to have his guitar; that Remus wanted to kiss him - that Remus _had_ kissed him. He hadn’t realised it, but now he thought about it, Sirius had wanted to kiss Remus for a long, long time.

 

“I think I fancy you,” he blurted out, swallowing hard. He wasn’t sure it was physically possible for him to blush any more than he was now. Remus’ mouth quirked up in that crooked smile, and he laughed.

 

“I guessed as much.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“You just kissed me and told me you love me.”

 

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

 

Remus lifted a hand to brush away a tear at the corner of Sirius’ eye.

 

“Do I taste funny?” Sirius asked suddenly. “Only, I threw up before I got here.”

 

The face Remus made suggested that maybe Sirius shouldn’t have told him that.

 

“You chucked up on your parents’ doorstep?”

 

Sirius nodded.

 

“That’s brilliant.”

 

“I hope my mum slips on it, too.”

 

The tall boy laughed and shook his head. For a while, neither of them spoke, but just sitting in Remus’ lap and taking in every detail of his face was enough for Sirius. When Remus piped up again, his expression was troubled.

 

“Sirius...You know I can’t fix this, right?”

 

Sirius didn’t reply.

 

“I can’t magic your parents into better people and I don’t think I can be everything you need right now.”

 

The dark-haired boy reached for Remus’ hand and laced their fingers together.

 

“You don’t have to try and be everything I need, tosser,” Sirius said. “You already are.”

 

“But what are you going to do? I can’t let you go back home, but-”

 

“I’ll live with James. He said he’d take me in.”

 

Both he and Remus looked unsure at this, but Sirius didn’t care at this precise moment.

 

“It doesn’t matter right now,” he assured. “But don’t tell me you aren’t what I need, because I’ve spent my whole life without the things I need; and now I’ve finally found one of them, I’m not letting it go.”

 

“Sirius-”

 

“I’m fucking nuts about you,” Sirius insisted. “I plan my whole day around seeing you and I draw you on my desk at school and the only reason I loved that damn guitar so much was because it reminded me of you and…”

 

Remus stared at him and blinked slowly. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke.

 

“I told my mum about you,” he said softly. “You know, when I go to, like...visit her. I told her everything about you. Like how you’ve got that scar on your cheek and how you bought me that hat, and how I hope your hair grows back soon because I bet it’s going to look lovely.” He looked away briefly. “I think she’d like you as much as I do.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I think I’d like her too.”

 

Gently, Remus pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. As Remus began to sing _Stand By Me_ , they clung to one another as if they were scared of what might happen if they let go. Sirius let his eyes close as the sound of Remus’ voice soothed his bruised knuckles and aching back.

 

“We’ll be alright, Moony. I know it.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this is the last chapter! This is the first fic I've ever published and I'd like to thank everyone who has left kudos or even just had a read; but, most especially, those who comment and send me messages of encouragement, because it has really kept me going. I hope the end isn't too cliched, but I couldn't help it xD

“We’d better hurry up, mum’s going to want us back soon.” 

 

Sirius waved a dismissive hand as lead James towards the front desk, which now had a large box lying on it. 

 

“We won’t be long,” he promised. “And I’m not going anywhere til I’ve seen this thing.”

 

The two boys stood eagerly by the box, managing only just to resist the temptation of opening it. With a brief wave over his shoulder, James beckoned Remus and Regulus over. 

 

“Guys, get over here. We have to be the first ones to see this.”

 

Remus was busy showing Regulus a Deep Purple vinyl, explaining how it worked as the younger boy watched with wide-eyes and asked all sorts of questions. At James’ request, Regulus grabbed Remus by the wrist and dragged him over to the front desk. Once the four of them were huddled round the cardboard box, Lyall emerged from the stock room and clapped his hands briskly. 

 

“Right. Who wants to see this beauty?” 

 

“Me!” Sirius squeaked, flashing Remus a grin when he subtly went to rest his hand on top of his . When Lyall opened the lid of the box and set it aside, there was a gasp from his audience. 

 

“That,” breathed James, “is beautiful.”

 

It was a Gibson Les Paul Custom, one of the 20th anniversary models that had just been released. The body shone a dazzling purple, with black streaks like tiger stripes. 

 

“Can I touch it?” Regulus asked softly, standing on tiptoe to see over the rim of the box. Lyall just laughed. 

 

“Sure.” 

 

Regulus carefully reached an arm into the box and poked the head of the guitar with one finger. Next to him, Remus smiled fondly. 

 

“You can touch it properly, you know.”

 

This elicited a small squeal of excitement from Regulus, who ran his hand lightly over the strings. The other boys marvelled at the sound. 

 

When Lyall left again for the stockroom, James launched into an animated story about how he wanted to be a world-famous drummer; Regulus listened eagerly, though his eyes were still fixed on the guitar. Remus got onto his knees and began rummaging around under the till for something. Seeing his chance, Sirius bent down too and kissed him, out of others’ sight. 

 

“We probably have to get home soon,” he told Remus. “James’ mum went nuts last time Reg didn’t have dinner.” 

 

“Okay,” Remus said softly, eyes wandering slowly across Sirius’ features; Sirius looked different now that his hair had been allowed to grow out in dark, loose curls around his face. Even more beautiful, according to Remus. 

 

Sirius knew he should probably get up again, otherwise James and Regulus might wonder what was so fascinating about the floor under the counter. But something in Remus’ gaze made it hard to look away. He was dimly aware of the song playing from the turntable Lyall had put on earlier, but for once, Sirius didn’t feel like singing along. 

 

“Thanks, Moony,” he said suddenly. Remus blinked. 

 

“For what?” 

 

Sirius shrugged. 

 

“Everything. Thanks for existing.”

 

“You should really thank my parents for that and not me. But you’re welcome.” 

 

Sirius slapped him playfully as he began to blush. 

 

“Come home with us for dinner,” he offered.

 

Remus looked nervous. 

 

“Oh. Uh, I probably shouldn’t-”

 

“Bollocks. James’ mum loves you.” 

 

“She’s only met me once.” 

 

“I’d only met you once when I fell madly in love with you.” 

 

Remus shook his head, but he was smiling. Above them, James was still ranting relentlessly, but his words had lost meaning. Instead, Sirius let Bowie’s voice from the record was over him, encasing he and Remus in their own private bubble. 

 

_ Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe, _

_ Put your ray gun to my head, _

_ Press your space face close to mine, love, _

_ Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah - _

 

Sirius didn’t worry about if he was going to get a meal that evening, or how he was going to hide the new record James had given him. He didn’t think about the people he had once called parents, or the house he had once called home.

 

Sirius’ universe consisted only of Remus, and that was a wonderful way to exist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Lyall DEFINITELY chose that song on purpose. He totally ships wolfstar lmaoooo. Also, in case it wasn't clear, yes, Sirius and Regulus live with James now. I can only pray for James' parents xD

**Author's Note:**

> I've made a Spotify playlist featuring all the songs I mention in this fic, copy the link if you want to have a listen! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/annie-april/playlist/6ovcsZuaFMweresCl30Fui?si=hr6rLdEjQ_G7_s-eU25zYA


End file.
